Jfo3. 


_5  jL-fCtVi^'UnA^  /fl>0, 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ENGLISH 
LITERATURE 


BY 


CHARLTON    M.   LEWIS 

Emily  Sanforu  1'kofessor  ok  Enc;lisii  Literature  in 
Yale  University 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
GINN   &   COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 

1900 


Copyright,  igoo 
By   CHARLTON    M.   LEWIS 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


LIRRARY 

UNiVERsrrv  or  c.ujfornii 

P 1^  SANTA  13ARBAKA 

L4-§ 


PREFACE 

The  only  satisfactory  way  to  teach  English  literature 
to  beginners  is  to  put  the  literature  itself  in  their  hands, 
and  try  to  aid  them  in  getting  an  intelligent  appreciation 
of  it.  The  study  of  literary  evolutions  is  important  even 
at  first,  but  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  an  aid  to  such  appre- 
ciation. It  is  especially  desirable  that  the  student  should 
not  think  of  the  study  of  the  poets,  for  example,  as  con- 
sisting chiefly  in  the  study  of  what  other  people  have 
written  about  them. 

Yet  it  is  hardly  practicable  to  dispense  with  the  text- 
book altogether.  The  earliest  authors  that  have  usually 
been  read  by  the  under-classmen  in  Yale  College,  for 
example,  are  Spenser  and  Shakespeare.  The  writers 
who  cannot  be  enjoyed  without  some  preliminary  lin- 
guistic study  have  been  reserved  for  a  later  place  in  the 
curriculum  ;  but  even  Spenser  and  Shakespeare,  and 
their  period,  can  best  be  taken  up  after  at  least  a  slight 
knowledge  of  the  earlier  history  of  our  literature  has 
been  acquired. 

This  book  has  been  written  to  supply  what  the  author's 
experience  has  shown  to  be  a  real  need.  Its  purpose  is 
to  give  to  those  who  do  not,  for  the  present  at  least, 
require  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  Old  and  Middle 
English  authors,  such  a  knowledge  of  their  character- 
istics and  historical  relations  as  may  serve  for  an  intro- 


iv  PREFACE 

duction  to  the  study  of  the  Elizabethan  and  later  periods. 
Several  other  books  covering  much  of  the  same  ground 
are  easily  available  ;  but  they  are  cither  very  elementary 
in  treatment  or  so  crowded  with  barren  statements  of 
unimportant  facts  as  to  defeat  the  purpose  just  suggested. 
Mere  digests  of  names  and  dates  may  be  excellent  for 
reference,  or  as  companions  to  actual  reading,  but  they 
cannot  profitably  be  used  alone  for  continuous  study. 

The  present  work  is  designed  as  a  sort  of  compromise. 
It  is  not  a  history  of  our  early  literature,  but  an  intro- 
duction to  the  history  of  our  later  Uterature.  It  does 
not  give  an  account  of  all  our  early  writers,  nor  even  of 
all  the  important  ones  ;  but  it  selects  striking  repre- 
sentatives of  a  few  great  facts  in  the  history  of  our  lit> 
erature,  and  attempts  to  give  a  sufficiently  full  account 
of  them  to  impress  the  student's  imagination  and  leave 
some  distinct  trace  in  his  memory.  A  few  extracts,  in 
translation,  are  given  from  tlie  older  writers,  and  longer 
passages  are  given  in  the  original  from  such  works  as 
can  be  made  fairly  intelligible  with  the  aid  of  occasional 
glosses.  In  the  longest  selections,  the  line  numbering 
of  the  original  text  is  noted  in  the  margin,  to  facili- 
tate either  class-room  reference  or  consultation  of 
commentaries. 

The  first  chapter  is  inserted  because  of  a  grievous  need 
within  the  writer's  own  experience.  Students  ought  to 
know  something  of  English  history  before  they  approach 
the  history  of  English  literature,  but  in  fact  they  often 
do  not ;  and  this  chapter,  therefore,  as  well  as  several 
minor  passages  in  the  later  chapters,  seemed  indispen- 
sable.    The  second  chapter  is  not  necessary  to  the  stu- 


PREFACE  V 

dent  of  literary  history,  but  it  is  desirable  that  he  should 
not  be  ignorant  of  the  facts  contained  in  it,  for  literature 
and  lan<^uage  do  not  develop  in  entire  independence  of 
each  other.  Moreover,  it  will  doubtless  be  found  useful 
in  the  early  part  of  a  college  course  to  give  the  student 
some  knowledge  of  the  general  nature  of  linguistic 
studies,  if  only  that  he  may  be  intelligently  guided  in 
his  choice  of  more  advanced  courses. 

The  book  is  novel  in  plan,  but  it  was,  of  course,  no 
essential  part  of  its  plan  to  give  new  facts  or  new  views. 
The  author  has  freely  availed  himself  of  the  researches 
of  others.  His  chief  indebtedness  is  to  Lounsbury's 
and  Emerson's  Histories,  for  the  materials  of  the  second 
chapter  ;  but  a  detailed  acknowledgment  would  include 
Morley,  ten  Brink,  Skeat,  Gaston  Paris,  Petit  de  Julle- 
ville.  Cook,  Eicken,  Wiilker,  Trevelyan,  Andrew  D. 
White,   Brooke,   Nutt,   Seebohm,  and  many  others. 


TABLi:    Ol^'    CONIJ.NTS 

PAGE 

Chronolocjical  Tahle ix 

Chapter  I.  —  The  Making  of  the  Race i 


Prehistoric  Britain. — The  Roman  period.  —  The  last  of  the 
Britons.  —  The  coming  of  the  English.  —  Wilfred  and  the 
Danes.  —  The  Norman  Conquest.  —  The  feudal  system. — 
England  after  the  Conquest. 

Chapter  II.  —  The  Making  of  the  Language    ...     15 

The  Indo-European  family.  —  The  Teutonic  branch.  —  Eng- 
lish as  a  Teutonic  language. —  Old  English.  —  Latin  and  Old 
French.  —  The  development  of  Middle  English.  —  English 
dialects.  —  Miscellaneous  foreign  influences. 

Chapter   III.  —  Old  English  Literature 32 

Widsith. — Beowulf.  —  Casdmon  and  Bede.  —  Cynewulf. — 
Judith. — Alfred  and  the  later  literature. 

Chapter  IV.  —  The  Romances  of  Chivalry    •     •     •     •     53 

Asceticism.  —  Geoffrey  and  the  French  romances. — The 
Holy  Grail.  —  Layamon  and  the  English  romances.  —  Malory's 
Morte  Darthur. 

Chapter  V.  —  The  Early  Middle  English  Period     .     "]"] 

The  Bestiary.  —  The  earliest  lyrics. — Fabliau  and  satire. 
—  Richard  Rolle  of  Hampole. 

Chapter  VI.  —  The  Age  of  Chaucer 08 


The  fourteenth  century.  —  The  Alliterative  Poems.  —  Piers 
Plowman.  —  Gower. 


viii  tablp:  of  contents 

PAGE 

Chapter  VII.  —  Chaucer 120 

The  life  of  Chaucer.  —  Chaucer's  French  period.  —  His  later 
poems.  —  The  Canterbury  Tales. 

Chapter  VIII.  —  The  End  of  the  Middle  Ages     .     .141 

The  Chaucerian  school. —  The  A'higis  Qiiair  znA  The  Court 
of  Love.  —  MauHdeviWs  Travels.  —  Ballads.  —  Dramatic  enter- 
tainments. 

Chapter  IX.  —  The  Renaissance 162 

Caxton.  —  Skelton.  —  Mediaeval  universities.  —  The  Revival 
of  Learning.  —  The  Humanists.  —  The  Reformation. —  Wyatt 
and  Surrey.  —  Conclusion. 

Index 189 


B.C. 

5S- 

A.D. 

43- 

387? 

411. 

449? 

? 

CHRONOLOGICAL   TABLE 

Caesar's  first  invasion  of  Britain. 

Invasion  of  Aulus  Plautius,  under  the  Emperor  Clau- 
dius. 
Birth  of  St.  Patrick. 
Withdrawal  of  the  Roman  legions. 
Beginning  of  conquest  by  the  English. 
IVtdsiVi. 

516?    Victory  of  Arthur  (?)  at  Mount  Badon. 
597.      The  Pope  sends  missionaries  to  the  English. 

?       Beowulf. 
6S0.     Death  of  Ca^dmon. 
735.     Death  of  Bede. 

?        Cynewulf. 
793.     The  Northmen  descend  upon  Lindisfarne. 

?       Judith. 
871-901.     Reign  of  ydf red. 
937.     Battle  of  Brunanburh. 
1 01 6-1 042.      England  under  Danish  kings. 
1066.     The  Norman  Conquest. 

1 140.     Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  Historia  Britonuni. 
1 154.     Last  entries  in  the  Old  English  Chronicle. 
1 1 70.     Chrestien's  Conte  de  la  Charrette. 
1 204.     Loss  of  Normandy. 
1205  ?    Layamon's  Brut. 
1250?    'Y\^&  Bestiary.     The.  Ctcckoo-Song. 
?       Dame  Siriz. 
?       Kl>K?  Horn. 
?        The  Vox  and  the  Wolf. 
1 300  .'*    TJie  Land  of  Cokaygne. 


CHRONOLOGICAL    TABLE 

1325  ?  Birth  of  Gower. 

1327.  Accession  of  Edward  III. 

1332?  Birth  of  Langland. 

1336?  Birth  of  Chaucer. 

1346.  Battle  of  Cr^cy. 

1348.  First  visitation  of  the  Black  Death. 

1349.  Death  of  Richard  Rolle. 
1356.  Battle  of  Poitiers. 

?  Anonymous  West  Midland  Alliterative  Poems. 

1359.  Chaucer's  military  service  in  France. 

1362.  English  is  made  the  official  language  of  Parliament 

and  the  courts  of  law. 

1362  ?  First  version  of  Piers  Plowman. 

1369.  The  Book  of  the  Duchess. 

1373.  Chaucer's  first  visit  to  Italy. 

1 38 1.  The  Peasants'  Revolt. 

1382.  Wyclif's  expulsion  from  Oxford. 
1384.  Wyclif's  death. 

1385  ?  The  Legend  of  Good  Wovicn. 

1386?  The  Canterbury  Tales  begun. 

1392.  The  Confessio  A  mantis. 

1400.  Death  of  Chaucer  (?  and  Langland). 

1408.  Death  of  Gower. 

?  English  version  of  Afannde7iile's  Travels. 

1 4 1 3 .  Occleve's  Govertiail  of  Princes. 

.''  The  Kingis  Quair. 

1437.  Death  of  James  I  of  Scotland. 

1453.  Fall  of  Constantinople. 

1470.  Malory's  Morte  Darthur. 

?  The  Court  of  Love. 

1477.  Caxton  prints  Dictcs  and  Sayings  of  the  Philosophers. 

1485.  End  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 

1498  .''  Erasmus's  first  visit  to  England. 

1509.  The  Praise  of  Folly. 

1 5 16.  The  Utopia. 

1 51 7.  Luther's    declaration  against  indulgences  begins  the 

Reformation. 


CHRONOLOGICAL   TABLE  XI 

A.D.  151S?    Skelton's  Colyn  Chnde. 

1527.     Henry  VIII  first  applies  to  the  Pope  for  a  divorce. 
1533.     Henry  marries  Anne  Boleyn.     Wyatt  and  Surrey  are 

present  at  the  festivities. 
1535.     Execution  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 
1542.     Death  of  Wyatt. 

1547.     Execution  of  Surrey.     Death  of  Henry  VIII. 
1 547-1 553.     Reign  of  Edward  VI. 
1552.     Birth  of  Edmund  Spenser. 
I  553-1 558.      Reign  of  Queen  Mary. 
1558.     Accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
1 561.     Gorbodicc. 
1564.     Birth  of  Shakespeare. 
1576.     The  Paradise  of  Dainty  Devices. 

1578.  The  Gorgeous  Gallery  of  Gallant  Inventions. 

1579.  hyXy's  Euphues. 

1590.      First  three  books  of  The  Faerie  Queene. 


EARLY  ENGLISH   LITERATURE 

CHAPTER    I 

THE   MAKING   OF   THE   RACE 

1.  Prehistoric  Britain.  —  Since  the  beginning  of  British 
history  Britain  has  been  a  home  for  several  races,  Imt 
all  have  belonged  to  the  Indo-European  family.  It  is 
known,  however,  that  at  least  three  other  races  occupied 
the  island  before.  Our  knowledge  of  these  three  is 
obtained  from  fossils,  stone  implements,  burial  mounds, 
and  other  similar  remains.  The  first  race  seem  to  have 
been  not  very  much  more  civilized  than  the  beasts  that 
they  killed  and  ate.  The  second  used  stone  weapons 
with  wooden  handles,  and  were  fond  of  scratching  rude 
pictures  on  bones,  or  other  substances  ;  they  are  thought 
to  have  been  related  to  the  modern  Esquimaux.  The 
third  were  Iberians,  like  the  modern  Basques  of  the 
Pyrenees  Mountains.  Of  these  three  races,  the  first 
two  have  probably  passed  away  altogether  from  the  Brit- 
ish Islands,  but  it  is  supposed  that  the  Iberians  have 
left  descendants  by  intermarriage  among  all  the  Indo- 
European  races  of  the  West.  The  Iberians  of  Britain  ^ 
were  able  to  spin  and  weave,  till  the  ground,  and  sail  the 
sea.  They  had  some  tribal  organization,  and  built  rude 
fortifications.     They  were  barbarians,  but  hardly  savages. 


2  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

The  first  Indo-Europcans  to  reach  Britain  were  of  the 
Celtic  branch  of  the  family.  They  came  several  cen- 
turies before  the  Christian  era,  and  either  exterminated 
or  absorbed  their  predecessors.  They  were  in  Britain 
when  the  island  first  became  known  to  the  civilized 
world,  and  their  descendants  still  inhabit  Scotland, 
Wales,  Ireland,  and  even  parts  of  England.  The  early 
Celts,  unlike  the  Iberians,  were  learning  the  use  of  iron  ; 
they  lived  in  wattled  huts  of  clay,  sticks,  and  reeds  ;  they 
had  a  well-developed  tribal  organization,  with  chieftains 
and  aristocracy  at  the  head ;  and  they  had  a  polythe- 
istic religion  vaguely  similar  to  that  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans.  They  had  some  savage  customs,  such  as  that 
of  tattooing  their  bodies,  and  perhaps  (in  the  earliest 
times)  polyandry ;  and  their  druids,  who  were  at  once 
priests,  physicians,  judges,  and  counsellors,  sometimes 
offered  human  sacrifices  to  their  gods  ;  but  in  general 
their  civilization  was  much  higher  than  that  of  the 
Iberians. 

2.  The  Roman  Period.  —  Celtic  Britain  was  known  com- 
mercially to  southern  Europe  long  before  the  time  of 
Caesar,  but  Caesar's  invasion  is  practically  the  beginning 
of  the  island's  authentic  history.  Even  this  event  was 
of  less  moment  than  is  sometimes  supposed,  for  Caesar 
did  not  conquer  Britain  ;  perhaps,  indeed,  he  never  in- 
tended to  do  more  than  terrorize  the  inhabitants,  and 
so  ensure  the  peace  of  Gaul.  He  was  in  Britain  for  less 
than  three  months,  and  he  left  no  material  evidences  of 
his  two  expeditions. 

About  a  century  later,  however,  Claudius  invaded 
Britain  as  a  conqueror,  and  until  the  year  411  the  south- 


THE   MAKING   OF   THE    RACE  3 

em  part  of  the  island  was  a  Roman  possession.  Rome 
lost  nearly  as  much  as  she  gained  by  the  conquest,  for 
Britain  swallowed  up  legions  almost  as  fast  as  it  yielded 
spoils ;  but  a  great  change  was  wrought  in  the  island 
itself.  The  Romans  did  not  slaughter  those  whom  they 
could  just  as  well  pacify,  and  during  the  Roman  period, 
therefore,  southern  Britain  was  at  least  outwardly  civil- 
ized. Roman  roads  were  arteries  of  commerce  as  well 
as  of  warfare  ;  Roman  villas  superseded  the  old  wattled 
wigwams ;  Roman  theatres,  baths,  and  temples,  and  the 
Latin  language,  all  became  familiar  to  the  conquered  race. 

The  blessings  of  civilization,  however,  were  dearly 
bought.  The  Britons  paid,  as  taxes  on  their  land,  a 
tenth  and  sometimes  even  a  fifth  of  its  annual  produce. 
They  paid  taxes  for  maintenance  of  troops,  taxes  for 
entertainment-  of  officials,  taxes  for  repairing  roads,  taxes 
for  carrying  stocks  of  merchandise,  and  taxes  upon  suc- 
cession to  inheritances  ;  they  paid  poll-taxes,  customs 
and  market  dues,  and  fees  for  license  to  do  ordinary 
labor ;  and  all  these  taxes  were  collected  by  foreign 
officials,  with  little  restraint,  doubtless,  upon  corrup- 
tion. The  fighting  men  of  the  subject  Britons  were 
deported  to  wage  Rome's  wars  elsewhere,  and  in  those 
who  remained  in  the  island  vigorous  manhood  and  the 
love  of  freedom  became  nearly  extinct.  When  the  last 
Roman  legions  were  withdrawn,  it  was  not  because  the 
Britons  were  able  to  shake  off  the  yoke,  but  because 
the  empire  itself  was  decaying,  and  Rome  needed  all 
her  strength  for  self-defense. 

3.  The  Last  of  the  Britons.  —  One  reason  why  the  Ro- 
man colony  in  Britain  was  so  hard  to  maintain  was  that 


4  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

it  was  subject  to  continual  depredations  from  the  north 
and  east.  The  Scots,  and  other  Celtic  races  in  northern 
Britain  and  Ireland,  were  not  reached  by  Roman  civili- 
zation, and  were  a  constant  terror  to  their  enervated 
kinsmen  in  the  south ;  and  for  at  least  a  century  before 
the  Romans  left,  the  eastern  coast  was  familiar  with  the 
Saxon  pirates  from  across  the  sea.  After  the  final 
withdrawal  of  Roman  protection,  fruitless  appeals  were 
made  for  further  aid.  One  famous  message  said  :  "To 
Aetius,  thrice  consul,  the  groans  of  the  Britons.  The 
barbarians  dri\e  us  to  the  sea  ;  the  sea  drives  us 
back  to  the  barbarians  ;  we  are  either  slaughtered  or 
drowned." 

In  addition  to  these  troubles,  the  Britons  suffered 
from  domestic  disorders.  Rome  had  left  them  only 
half  civilized.  The  upper  classes  continued  to  speak 
Latin,  and  doubtless  would  have  been  glad  to  maintain 
the  Roman  system  of  civil  and  military  discipline  ;  but 
the  old  tribal  feeling  was  too  strong,  and  whate\'er 
manhood  was  left  in  the  mass  of  the  population  wasted 
itself  in  petty  tribal  squabbles.  Christianity  had  reached 
the  island  a  century  or  two  before  the  Romans  left  it, 
but  after  their  departure  it  seems  to  have  become  more 
nominal  than  real,  and  life  outside  of  the  largest  towns 
was  vicious  and  violent. 

Two  notable  names  stand  out  from  the  very  obscure 
history  of  these  times  —  those  of  Patricius  and  Ambro- 
sius  Aurelianus.  The  former  was  a  native  of  Scotland, 
but  was  kidnapped  in  his  boyhood  and  sold  as  a  slave  in 
Ireland.  After  suffering  many  hardships  he  was  able 
to   devote   himself  to  the  reformation  of  the  country  ; 


THE    MAKING    OF   THE    RACE  5 

he  became  a  bishop  of  the  Irish  Church,  and  has  ever 
since  been  its  patron  saint.  Ambrosius  Aurehanus,  on 
the  other  hand  (or  perhaps  simply  Ambrosius),  is  the 
probable  original  of  the  legendary  King  Arthur.  His 
name  survives  in'  the  name  of  Amesbury  (Ambrose- 
burg),  a  town  often  mentioned  in  Arthurian  story  ;  and 
the  curious  fortification  still  extant  on  Salisbury  plain 
may  well  have  been  one  c^f  his  strongholds.  As  the 
piratical  invaders  from  the  east  penetrated  farther  into 
the  heart  of  Britain,  Ambrosius  for  a  long  time  made 
a  successful  stand  against  them.  He  is  the  supposed 
hero  of  at  least  one  real  British  victory,  that  at  Mt. 
Badon  about  the  year  516;  but  the  legendary  Arthur, 
who  overthrew  the  Saxons  in  twelve  great  battles  and 
made  a  realm  and  reigned,  is  like  a  composite  photo- 
graph, being  credited  with  the  deeds  of  many  others 
besides  Ambrosius,  as  well  as  countless  deeds  that 
were  never  done  at  all. 

4.  The  Coming  of  the  English.  —  The  barbarian  invaders 
from  over  the  sea,  who  first  harried  the  coasts  of  Britain 
and  finally  conquered  the  island,  were  known  to  the 
Britons  as  Saxons,  but  it  would  be  more  proper  to  call 
them  English.  They  were  in  fact  of  three  kindred 
tribes  —  Angles,  Saxons,  and  Jutes.  Soon  after  the 
Roman  garrisons  were  withdrawn,  these  people  began 
making  permanent  settlements  on  the  British  coasts. 
Gradually  they  pressed  inland,  and  by  about  600  they 
had  become  possessed  of  the  greater  part  of  what  is  now 
England.  They  came  from  the  southern  part  of  the 
Danish  peninsula,  and  the  adjacent  coast  stretching 
westward    towards    the    Rhine.      The    Jutes,    the    least 


6  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

important  of  the  three  tribes,  settled  only  Kent  and 
a  few  inland  districts.  The  Saxons^  took  the  rest  of 
Britain  south  of  the  Thames,  spreading  as  far  to  the 
west  as  they  could  ;  and  the  Angles  seized  the  eastern 
coast  north  of  the  Thames,  and  gradually  pushed  inland 
all  along  the  line.  The  Angles  were  the  most  numerous 
and  probably  the  most  intellectual  ;  and  they  {unlike  the 
Saxons  and  Jutes)  came  as  a  whole  nation,  bringing  their 
national  life  and  leaving  their  old  home  desolate.  Civi- 
lization and  culture  developed  among  them  in  northern 
England  earlier  and  faster  than  among  the  Saxons  or 
Jutes  in  the  south,  and  both  Saxons  and  Jutes  began  in 
very  early  times  to  speak  of  themselves  too  as  "Eng- 
lish." 

These  English  were  Germanic  peoples,  and  their  reli- 
gion was  akin  to  other  Germanic  religions.  Early  in  the 
seventh  century  they  were  Christianized  by  Roman  mis- 
sionaries, but  the  names  of  some  of  their  original  deities 
still  survive  in  our  names  of  days  :  Tin's  day,  Woden's 
day,  etc.  Moreover,  Christianity  by  no  means  reconciled 
them  with  their  Celtic  predecessors  in  Britain.  Scot- 
land, and  for  a  long  time  the  western  part  of  England, 
remained  independent  and  hostile.  The  fate  of  the 
British  in  the  conquered  parts  of  the'  island  is  not  very 
definitely  known,  but  certainly  many  were  slain  and 
almost  as  certainly  many  others  were  retained  as  wives 
or  as  slaves.  The  English  race  therefore  had  from  this 
time  on  a  strain  of  Celtic  blood. 

1  The  modern  kingdom  of  Saxony  has  no  connection  with  the  ancient 
tribe.  Tt  was  arbitrarily  named,  at  a  much  later  date,  and  its  inhab- 
itants are  not  Saxons  at  all,  in  the  strict  sense. 


Till'.    MAKING    OF    THE    RACE  7 

By  the  end  of  the  sixth  century  seven  distinct  king- 
doms, commonly  known  as  the  Heptarchy,  were  estab- 
lished in  Britain.  At  that  time  the  kingdom  of  Kent 
was  the  most  powerful  of  the  Heptarchy,  and  its  king 
exercised  some  sort  of  overlordship  over  most  of  the 
others.  In  the  seventh  and  eighth  centuries  the  An- 
glian kingdoms  of  Northumberland  and  Mercia  attained 
a  similar  position,  and  in  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries 
in  turn  the  kingdom  of  the  West  Saxons  came  to  the 
front.  Thus  Jutes,  Angles,  and  Saxons  enjoyed  the 
supremacy  in  succession.  There  was  for  a  long  time 
no  real  political  unity  ;  but  all  were  English,  all  spoke 
English,  and  all  felt  a  strong  unifying  force  in  the 
church  ;  for  they  had  not  one  church  of  Wessex  and 
another  of  Kent,  but  a  single  ecclesiastical  organization 
for  the  whole  Heptarchy.  Therefore,  after  several  gen- 
erations of  West  Saxon  overlordship,  and  especially  after 
it  became  necessary  to  unite  against  common  foes,  the 
kings  of  Wessex  naturally  came  to  be  in  reality  kings  of 
England. 

5.  .Alfred  and  the  Danes.  —  A  general  westward  migra- 
tion of  races  was  going  on  in  northern  Europe  through- 
out the  dark  ages,  and  it  did  not  stop  in  England  with 
the  arrival  of  the  English.  As  they  had  harried  the 
Britons,  so  various  tribes  of  Northmen  now  harried 
them.  These  Scandinavian  barbarians  had  moved 
southward  over  the  Danish  peninsula,  but  were  prob- 
ably turned  back  by  the  powerful  Germanic  empire  of 
Charlemagne,  and  in  the  eighth  century  they  began 
to  attack  the  eastern  coast  of  England.  In  the  middle 
of  the   ninth  century  they  began  making  settlements, 


8  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

instead  of  mere  raids,  and  the  Danes,  the  most  vigorous 
of  all  the  Northmen,  speedily  overpowered  the  northern 
and  eastern  members  of  the  Heptarchy. 

Alfred  came  to  the  throne  of  the  West  Saxons  in  871, 
just  as  the  Danes  were  beginning  to  attack  Wessex 
itself.  Alfred  was  one  of  the  really  great  men  of 
history,  and  he  showed  his  greatness  in  his  long  and 
bitter  struggle  with  the  enemy.  Sometimes  he  beat 
them  off  by  superiority  of  force  or  strategy  ;  sometimes, 
when  less  successful,  he  bought  them  off ;  but  they  had 
little  fear  of  force  and  less  respect  for  treaties,  and  the 
peace  therefore  was  never  long.  One  season's  campaign 
resulted  in  seemingly  irretrievable  disaster,  and  the  king 
himself  passed  many  weeks  as  a  refugee,  hiding  in 
swamps  and  woodland  ;  but  he  was  secretly  rallying  his 
forces  and  time  was  weakening  the  Danes,  and  the  next 
season  witnessed  a  complete  turn  of  fortune.  The 
worst  of  the  struggle  ended  in  a  truce  of  uncertain  date, 
sometimes  called  the  Peace  of  Wedmore,  by  which  the 
Danes  were  bound  to  keep  within  certain  limits,  and 
Wessex  was  freed  of  them.  The  future  of  England  as 
an  English  rather  than  Danish  nation  was  thus  assured. 

These  Danes  of  the  north  and  east  constituted  a 
separate  nation  in  England,  and  for  a  long  time  after 
.Alfred's  death  they  contended  with  the  English  for  the 
mastery.  The  south  finally  won  a  decisive  victory  at 
the  battle  of  Brunanburh  in  937,  and  after  this  the 
Danes  gradually  became  a  part  of  the  English  nation. 
They  accepted  civilization  and  Christianity,  and  as  the 
genius  of  their  language  was  much  like  that  of  the  Eng- 
lish, the  latter  was  easy  for  their  children  to  learn.     But 


THE    MAKING    OF    TIIK    RACK  9 

new  hordes  of  Danes  were  continually  appearing  on  the 
coast.  Even  /Elfred,  after  the  Peace  of  Wedmore,  had 
to  defend  himself  against  newcomers.  He  met  and 
defeated  them  at  sea,  and  for  this  reason  has  somewhat 
fantastically  been  called  the  founder  of  the  English  navy. 
Some  of  the  later  kings  were  less  successful,  and  the 
Danish  raids  culminated  in  a  sweeping  conquest  in  1013. 
English  and  Anglicized  Northmen  united  against  the 
new  invaders,  but  they  were  defeated;  and  in  1016 
Cnut  the  Dane  became  undisputed  king  of  England. 

This  conquest,  however,  was  military  rather  than 
national.  The  English  army  and  royal  family  were 
overthrown,  but  the  country  was  not  overrun  with  for- 
eigners. Cnut  was  a  wise  ruler,  and  he  wielded  his 
power  for  all  England,  not  for  the  newly  arrived  Danes 
alone.  Consequently,  although  three  successive  Danish 
kings  sat  on  the  throne,  England  remained  England,  and 
the  effect  of  the  conquest  upon  its  life  and  its  later  liter- 
ature was  surprisingly  small. 

6.  The  Norman  Conquest.  —  Britain  was  not  the  only 
western  country  preyed  upon  by  the  Northmen.  Early 
in  the  tenth  century  they  seized  parts  of  the  northern 
coast  of  France,  and  made  the  district  now  called  Nor- 
mandy their  own.  As  the  Danes  in  England  became 
English,  so  these  Northmen  or  Normans  in  France  be- 
came French.  The  Scandinavian,  while  no  less  hardy 
than  the  Englishman,  seemed  always  readier  to  adapt 
himself  to  new  ways  of  living. 

The  policy  of  the  Norman  dukes  was  to  ally  themselves 
intimately  with  both  France  and  England,  and  before 
the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century  the  Normans  and 


lO  EARLY    EN(}LISII    LITERATURE 

the  English  were  therefore  closely  related  by  commerce, 
travel,  and  mtermarriage.  Many  Normans  had  settled 
permanently  in  England,  and  some  had  risen  to  high 
positions  of  influence.  Otherwise  the  success  of  the 
Normans  in  the  coming  struggle  could  hardly  have  been 
so  easy  as  it  was. 

When  William,  the  Duke  of  the  Normans,  formed  the 
design  of  invading  England,  it  was  easy  to  find  pretexts. 
For  example,  he  was  a  cousin  of  the  English  king,  and 
the  latter  promised  him  the  succession  ;  when,  therefore, 
upon  the  king's  death,  the  crown  was  given  to  Harold, 
this  violated  promise  afforded  William  an  argument  of 
some  practical  value,  though  of  no  legal  validity  what- 
ever. He  sent  a  message  demanding  the  throne,  which 
was  refused.  Thereupon,  in  1066,  reinforcing  his  own 
army  with  adventurers  from  all  quarters,  he  crossed  the 
channel.  His  undertaking  had  seemed  to  many  of  his 
advisers  almost  hopeless,  and  indeed  at  the  battle  of 
Sen  lac  (or  Hastings)  he  narrowly  escaped  ruin  ;  but  the 
English,  though  they  had  an  impregnable  position,  were 
undone  by  bad  generalship  and  worse  discipline.  Harold 
was  killed,  and  William,  after  this  one  overwhelming 
victory,  had  only  to  bide  his  time  patiently  until  the 
English  should  themselves  invite  him  to  take  the  crown. 
The  conquest  was  thus  completed  by  the  peaceful 
process  of  law. 

This  conquest  resembled  that  by  the  Danes  more  than 
that  of  the  Celtic  Britons  by  the  English.  The  Nor- 
mans spread  over  the  upper  surface  of  English  life, 
occupying  the  high  places  but  leaving  the  English 
masses  comparatively  in  peace.     They  never  came  over 


THE    MAKL\(;    OK    TIIK    RACE  II 

in  very  great  numbers,  and  even  now  there  are  compar- 
atively few  in  the  middle  or  lower  classes  who  can  boast 
of  Norman  blood.  ]h\t,  on  the  other  hand,  unlike  the 
Danes,  the  Normans  were  acclimatized  slowly.  For  a 
long  time  the  language  of  the  schools  and  of  court  life 
was  French  or  Latin  ;  and  the  spirit  of  English  life, 
while  by  no  means  wholly  revolutionized,  did,  as  we 
shall  see,   undergo  many  changes. 

7.  The  Feudal  System.  —  One  of  the  most  important 
changes  effected  by  the  Norman  Conquest  was  the 
introduction  of  the  feudal  system.  This  was  a  system 
of  government  under  which  every  powerful  lord  had 
many  vassals,  tenants  of  his  lands,  who  were  ready  to 
fight  his  battles  for  him,  and  whom  he  in  turn  was 
bound  to  protect.  Each  of  these  tenants  might  be  lord 
over  subtenants  of  his  own,  while  the  first  lord  was 
perhaps  himself  a  tenant  and  vassal  of  the  king.  This 
system  had  become  well  developed  on  the  continent 
before  the  conquest,  but  in  England  it  had  existed  only 
in  a  rudimentary  form. 

The  bond  between  lord  and  tenant,  under  the  feudal 
system,  was  something  more  than  a  mere  contract.  It 
was  more  like  a  contract  of  marriage  than  like  a  modern 
lease  of  land.  The  relation  was  commonly  effected  by 
a  peculiar  ceremony  called  "commendation."  The  ten- 
ant uncovered  his  head,  loosed  his  belt,  and  kneeling, 
with  his  hands  between  those  of  his  lord,  took  a  personal 
oath  of  fealty,  and  thus  became  his  "man  "  or  "vassal." 
The  rights  of  the  master  over  his  man  were  in  some 
respects  almost  rights  of  property  ;  yet  in  general  the 
system  involved  no  loss  of  dignity  on  the  vassal's  part. 


12  EAR].V    P:N(;LISH    LITERATURE 

William  himself,  as  Duke  of  Normandy,  was  a  vassal 
of  the  King  of  France,  but  this  fact  merely  symbolized, 
in  the  mediaeval  fashion,  the  honorable  relation  between 
the  duchy  and  the  kingdom. 

The  political  and  military  effects  of  the  feudal  system 
in  England  were  far-reaching.  The  lands  of  those  who 
opposed  William  at  Senlac,  or  elsewhere,  were  confis- 
cated and  bestowed  upon  the  Conqueror's  vassals. 
England  thus  became  subject  to  him  not  only  as  king 
but  also  as  feudal  overlord.  On  the  continent  William 
had  seen  that  feudalism  created  a  strong  centrifugal 
tendency,  for  the  great  barons  were  often  able  to  wield 
enormous  power,  and  they  were  naturally  often  tempted 
to  assert  their  virtual  independence  of  the  crown.  This 
he  sought  to  prevent  in  England  by  a  modification  of  the 
continental  system  ;  and  he  accordingly  required  each 
important  landowner  in  his  new  kingdom  to  take  the 
oath  of  fealty,  not  merely  to  his  immediate  superior,  but 
also  to  himself  as  supreme  overlord.  This  precaution 
made  it  impossible  for  England  to  be  split  up  into  a 
number  of  independent  seigniories,  and  while  it  did  not 
l^revent  many  bitter  conflicts  between  the  power  of  the 
crown  and  that  of  the  greater  barons,  it  did  materially 
help  to  make  the  supremacy  of  the  former  secure. 

In  the  history  of  literature,  however,  the  social  work- 
ings of  the  feudal  system  are  still  more  important.  The 
idea  of  knighthood  grew  out  of  the  feudal  relation,  and 
out  of  the  knightly  fashions  of  the  time  grew  the  literary 
ideals  of  chivalry.  The  feudal  system  was  probably  of 
most  benefit  to  such  as  could  attain  to  knighthood,  for 
the  knights  were  the  aristocracy  of  the  age ;    and  we 


THE    MAKING    OF   THE    RACE  1 3 

shall  expect,  in  consequence,  to  find  the  literature  of 
the  middle  ages  essentially  aristocratic   in  tone. 

8.  England  after  the  Conquest.  —  In  Normandy,  William 
had  been  merely  Duke  of  the  Normans.  This  rank 
carried  no  absolute  power  ;  it  would  not  be  far  from  the 
truth  to  say  that  he  was  but  the  chief  one  (the  dux)  of 
many  barons.  In  England,  as  king,  it  was  necessary  for 
him  to  assert  a  higher  function,  if  the  unity  of  the  king- 
dom was  to  be  assured.  The  greater  Norman  barons 
naturally  preferred  to  regard  him  merely  as  their  feudal 
overlord,  to  whom  they  had  done  homage  ;  but  William 
insisted  that  they  were  not  merely  his  vassals  but  also 
his  subjects.  For  the  first  century  or  more  after  the 
conquest,  the  chief  historical  events  in  England  were 
the  struggles  of  the  kings  with  the  greater  barons.  The 
kings  who  were  wise  enlisted  on  their  side  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  lesser  barons  and  of  the  common  people, 
and  thus  the  interests  of  many  of  the  Normans  were 
consolidated  with  those  of  the  English.  This  was  one 
of  the  ways  in  which  the  two  peoples  became  gradually 
fused  into  one. 

In  1204  England  lost  Normandy,  and  this  seeming 
misfortune  was  in  fact  a  great  benefit.  It  became  nec- 
essary for  the  Norman  barons  to  retire  to  Normandy, 
or  else  to  give  up  their  Norman  possessions  and  become 
really  Englishmen.  This  was  another  aid  to  the  fusion 
of  the  races.  The  Norman  families  retained  their  dis- 
tinct identity  for  a  long  time ;  as  a  rule,  they  continued 
to  speak  French  for  two  or  three  centuries  after  the 
conquest.  A  historical  work,  finished  about  1360,  says 
that  "  children  in  school,  against  the  usage  and  manner 


14  EARLY    P:NGLISH    LITERATURE 

of  all  Other  nations,  are  compelled  to  leave  their  own 
language,  and  to  construe  their  lessons  and  their  matters 
in  French,  and  have,  since  the  Normans  came  first  into 
England.  Also,  gentlemen's  children  are  taught  to 
speak  French  from  the  time  that  they  are  rocked  in 
their  cradle,  .  .  .  and  rustics  wish  to  make  themselves 
like  gentlemen,  and  strive  with  great  earnestness  to 
speak  French,  in  order  to  be  thought  the  more  of." 
It  is  clear,  however,  that  even  at  the  time  when  this 
was  written,  this  state  of  things  was  coming  to  an  end. 
A  statute  of  1362  made  English  the  language  of  courts 
of  justice,  and  a  historian  who  wrote  in  1385  says  that  at 
that  date  the  children  in  the  schools  were  using  English 
instead  of  French.  It  seems,  from  this  and  other  evi- 
dence, that  in  the  course  of  the  fourteenth  century 
English  became  the  family  language  of  all  classes ; 
and  when  this  happened,  the  distinction  between  the 
Norman  and  English  races  ceased  to  be  of  much 
practical  importance. 


CIIAPTKR    II 

THE   MAKING   OF   THE   LANGUAGE 

9.  The  Indo-European  Family.  —  A  family  of  languages 
is  a  group  of  languages  so  similar  to  one  another  in 
structure  and  vocabulary  as  to  compel  the  belief  that 
they  are  all  descended  from  some  common  ancestor. 
There  are  about  a  hundred  such  families  in  existence,  of 
which  the  Indo-European,  Semitic,  Hamitic,  and  Tura- 
nian are  the  best  known.  All  the  Turanian  languages, 
for  example,  such  as  Finnish,  Turkish,  and  Mongolian, 
afford  evidences  of  more  or  less  close  kinship  with  one 
another  ;  but  between  them  and  the  Semitic  languages, 
such  as  Hebrew,  there  is  no  more  similarity  than  may 
be  due  to  occasional  borrowings,  or  perhaps  to  mere 
chance. 

The  members  of  the  Indo-European  family  are  now 
scattered  over  Europe  and  Asia,  and  both  the  languages 
themselves  and  the  people  who  speak  them  differ  widely 
among  themselves ;  but  it  is  indisputable  that  the  lan- 
guages are  descended  from  a  common  parent  speech,  and 
it  seems  probable  that  most  of  the  peoples  who  speak 
them  are  descended  from  one  parent  race.  It  is  pos- 
sible, from  internal  evidence,  to  learn  much  about  the 
parent  race  and  language.  For  example,  from  the  pres- 
ence in  many  widely  scattered  members  of  the  family 
of  cognate  words  for  "father,"  "mother,"  "grandson," 

•5 


l6  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

etc.,  we  are  clearly  safe  in  arguing  that  the  original  Indo- 
Europeans  had  a  well-developed  domestic  life.  From 
similar  evidence  it  is  almost  as  conclusively  shown  that 
they  were  a  pastoral  people  who  knew  the  uses  of  milk 
and  honey.  Efforts  have  been  made  to  locate  their  origi- 
nal home  by  showing  what  kinds  of  animals  and  plants 
were  known  to  them,  but  the  evidence  is  very  uncertain. 
Perhaps  they  lived  on  the  northern  shores  of  the  Black 
Sea,  perhaps  somewhere  in  central  Asia.  At  any  rate, 
they  separated  many  centuries  before  the  beginning  of 
their  recorded  history. 

The  whole  Indo-European  family  is  divisible  into 
smaller  groups  or  branches.  For  example,  the  English 
and  German  languages  are  more  closely  related  to  each 
other  than  to  French  or  Welsh ;  and  this  fact  is  indi- 
cated by  saying  that  they  belong  to  the  Teutonic  branch 
of  the  family,  while  French  belongs  to  the  Latin  branch, 
and  Welsh  to  the  Celtic.  There  are  six  other  branches 
generally  recognized,  their  mutual  relationship  being 
indicated  in  the  following  table  ;  but  these  three  are  of 
most  interest  in  our  present  study,  and  the  Teutonic 
branch  is  the  only  one  that  we  need  consider  in  detail. 

Indo-European 


Asiatic  European 


Indian    Iranian    Armenian      Celtic    Teutonic    Albanian    Slavic    Latin    Hellenic 


Sanskrit, 
etc. 

Persian,  etc. 


Russian, 
etc. 


10.    The    Teutonic    Branch.  —  In    the    last     section    it 
was    said   that    English    and    German   are   more    nearly 


THE    MAKIXC.    OF    TIIK    LANGUAGE  1/ 

related  than  English  and  French.  This  fact  is  some- 
what obscured  by  the  great  influence  exercised  by 
French  over  English  in  modern  times.  After  the  Nor- 
man Conquest  so  many  French  words  became  natural- 
ized in  English  that  French  now  seems  to  many  students 
less  foreign  than  German  ;  but  in  order  to  assign  our 
language  to  the  proper  branch  of  the  Indo-European 
family,  we  must  consider  only  blood  relations,  not  rela- 
tions by  adoption  ;  we  must  look  at  English  as  it  was  in 
its  infancy,  before  it  was  exposed  to  Latin  and  French 
influences.  When  we  do  this  we  find  that  English  is 
unmistakably  Teutonic. 

The  Teutonic  languages  are  distinguished  from  those 
of  other  branches  by  a  large  number  of  very  old  words 
which  belong  to  them  in  common,  and  to  them  exclu- 
sively ;  but  there  are  two  other  peculiarities  besides 
those  of  vocabulary  which  enable  us  most  decisively  to 
prove  their  mutual  relationship.  One  of  these  pecul- 
iarities is  a  certain  uniformity,  or  law,  as  to  the  accen- 
tuation of  words.  Tjie^  original  law  of  Teutonic  accent 
was,  in  brief,  that  the  root  syllable  received  the  stress, 
except  in  nouns  and  adjectives,  which  accented  the  first 
syllable.  If  a  word  was  inflected,  the  accent  did  not 
vary  with  the  inflectional  endings.  In  Latin,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  accent  depended  on  the  quantity  of  the 
penult ;  and  in  Greek  it  in  part  depended  on  the  quantity 
of  syllables,  and  in  part  was  seemingly  arbitrary.  Com- 
pare, for  example,  begins  with  mcipit;  brotJier,  brotJier- 
hood  with  sociiis,  socictas ;  and  try  to  find  a  parallel  in 
English  or  German  for  \vw,  \e\vKa,  \e\vicevai,  \e\vK(o<;  ! 
This  Teutonic  law  of  accent  is  part  of  the  genius  of  the 


1 8  EARLY    P:NGLISH    LITERATURE 

Teutonic  languages,  and  shows  amazing  persistency  even 
in  modern  English,  after  centuries  of  linguistic  adulter- 
ation. The  noun  and  the  verb  prodticc,  with  their  dif- 
ferent accents,  illustrate  the  still  prevailing  tendency  to 
throw  back  the  accent  of  substantives. 

The  second  distinguishing  feature  of  the  Teutonic 
languages  is  a  peculiar  change  which  their  consonants 
have  suffered.  The  consonant  sounds  chiefly  affected 
are  those  known  to  students  of  Greek  grammar  as  the 
three  classes  of  mutes,  viz.  : 

labial  mutes,  tt,  /8,  ^. 
palatal  mutes,  k,  y,  ^. 
lingual  mutes,  t,  8,  0. 

The  change  referred  to  is  as  follows  :  Words  in  the 
original  Indo-European  language  which  were  retained  in 
the  Teutonic  branch,  in  many  cases  changed  the  second 
consonant  in  each  of  these  classes  to  the  first,  and  the 
first  to  the  third.  Thus,  if  there  was  a  yS  in  the  Indo- 
European  word,  it  became  tt  in  the  Teutonic  ;  7  became 
K  ;  T  became  Q,  and  so  on  through  the  list.  The  law  of 
this  consonant  shift  was  discovered  by  Grimm,  and  is 
known  as  Grimm's  Law.  Examples  are  seen  in  the 
English  _/(3^/,  German  F?iss  ;  cf.  Greek  tto?^?,  Latin /^j-, 
in  which  the  initial  consonant  preserves  the  original 
Indo-European  form.  So  English  knou',  German  ken- 
?icn,  from  the  same  root  as  ^i^voicncai,  cognosco  ;  English 
Jicn,  German  HaJin,  from  the  same  root  as  Kavd^o), 
cancrc.  In  the  last  example  the  sound  of  ;^  is  repre- 
sented by  a  less  guttural  aspirate,  Ji.  This  law  is  not 
imiversal  in  its  apjilication,  but  the  exceptions  to  it  are 


THE    MAKING   OF   THE    LANGUAGE 


19 


governed  by  regular  laws  of  their  own.     These,  how- 
ever, need  not  be  considered  here. 

11.  English  as  a  Teutonic  Language.  —  Each  of  the  nine 
great  branches  of  the  family  underwent  further  ramifi- 
cations of  its  own.  Thus  from  the  Latin  branch  sprang 
in  ancient  times  the  language  of  the  Samnites,  and  in 
more  modern  times  all  the  eight  so-called  romance 
languages,  chief  among  which  are  French,  Italian,  and 
Spanish.  The  history  of  the  Teutonic  branch  is  shown 
in  the  following  table  : 

Teutonic  Branch 


West  Germanic 


I 
Anglo-Frisian 


East  Gernianic 

I   ' 


Common  German         Gotliic 


Old  Norse 


Old 
English 


Old 
Frisian 


Old  High 
German 


Old  Low 
German 


West 
Norse 


East 
Norse 


Middle 
English 

I 
Modern 
English 


Flemish, 
etc. 


Middle  High 
German 

I 

Modern  High 

German 


Dutch,  Icelandic       Swedish 

etc.  and  and 

Norwegian        Danish 


It  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  the  ancestral  language 
designated  in  the  table  as  "Teutonic"  is  not  in  exist- 
ence, and  that  no  express  record  of  it  has  ever  been 
found  ;  but  by  comparing  the  existing  Indo-European 
languages  we  can  prove  that  such  a  tongue  must  have 
been  spoken  at  some  remote  past  time  ;  in  other  words, 
the  ancestors  of  all  the  Teutonic  peoples  probably  kept 
together  and  spoke  a  common  language  for  a  long  time 
after  they  separated  from  the  other  branches  of  the 
family.      In   like   manner   the  Anglo-Frisian,   the  West 


20  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

and  East  Germanic,  and  the  Common  German  are 
purely  hypothetical  languages  ;  the  only  evidence  of 
their  past  existence  is  found  by  comparative  study  of 
the  younger  tongues  now  extant  ;  but  that  evidence  is 
in  most  cases  conclusive. 

The  table,  therefore,  merely  presents  graphically  the 
inferences  drawn  by  students  of  comparative  linguistics. 
Such  students  do  not  always  agree.  Some,  for  exam- 
ple, reject  the  notion  of  an  Anglo-Frisian  tongue  alto- 
gether, and  derive  from  the  West  Germanic  two  groups 
of  modern  Germanic  languages,  the  high  and  the  low. 
What  we  ordinarily  call  "German"  is  Modern  High 
German  ;  while  English,  Flemish,  and  Dutch,  according 
to  this  \dew,  should  all  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  the 
Low  German  group. 

Wliichever  view  we  take  of  this  matter,  one  distinctive 
feature  of  High  German  is  worth  noting.  When  we 
compare  English  and  German  cognate  words,  we  often 
find  their  general  likeness  partly  obscured  by  a  differ- 
ence in  consonants.  Close  study  has  shown  that  this 
difference  is  due  to  a  second  change  which  High  Ger- 
man has  suffered,  along  the  line  pointed  out  by  Grimm's 
law.  According  to  Grimm's  law,  certain  consonants 
moved  up  one  step  in  their  respective  classes,  in  the 
days  before  English  and  German  separated ;  accord- 
ing to  another  law,  recently  discovered,  some  of  these 
consonants  took  a  second  step  in  the  same  direction, 
after  the  separation  ;  but  this  second  step  was  in  general 
taken  only  in  the  High  German  member  of  the  branch. 
Thus  we  find  in  German  dick  for  the  English  tJiick ; 
Darn  for  tJioru ;  durcJi  for  through ;  Diirst  for  tJiirst ; 


THE    MAKING    UK    THE    LANGUAGE  21 

Tan  for  dew  ;  tcucr  for  dear ;  Tier  for  deer ;  etc.  In 
some  cases  by  comparing  Latin  or  Greek  with  English 
and  German,  we  can  see  the  progress  of  both  consonant 
changes  in  the  same  word.  For  example,  the  initial 
consonant  of  the  word  represented  in  Greek  by  roVo?, 
and  in  Latin  by  tonarc,  suffered  by  Grimm's  law  before 
it  appeared  in  the  English  tJmnder,  and  then  in  High 
German  .suffered  the  second  change  before  it  finally 
appeared  as  d  in  Dotiner. 

12.  Old  English.  —  When  the  Angles,  Sa.xons,  and 
Jutes  came  to  Britain,  they  did  not  speak  exactly  alike; 
but  the  differences  were  so  slight  that  we  regard  them 
as  speaking  not  three  languages  but  three  dialects  of 
one  language.  That  one  language  is  often  called  Anglo- 
Saxon,  and  this  name  is  correct  enough,  as  the  Angle 
and  Saxon  members  of  the  invading  people  were  so 
much  more  numerous  than  the  Jutes  ;  but  it  is  now 
more  customary  to  speak  of  it  as  Old  English.  This 
name  serves  better  to  indicate  the  relation  of  the  lan- 
guage to  modern  English,  and  it  also  presents  a  conven- 
ient parallel  to  the  accepted  names  of  Old  High  German, 
Old  French,  Old  Norse,  etc.  The  English  of  the  later 
middle  ages,  after  the  Norman  Conquest,  is  commonly 
called  Middle  English. 

Of  the  three  original  forms  of  Old  English,  that 
spoken  by  the  Angles  has  proved  of  most  importance 
in  the  history  of  the  language.  It  split  up  at  an  early 
date  into  two  dialects,  called  Northumbrian  and  Mercian, 
after  the  names  of  the  two  chief  Anglian  kingdoms  in 
the  Heptarchy.  From  the  speech  of  the  Saxons  also 
there  sprang  several  different  dialects,  but  the  foremost 


22  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

of  them  was  the  West  Saxon,  that  of  Alfred's  kingdom. 
These  three  dialects —  Northumbrian,  Mercian,  and  West- 
Saxon — ^were  spoken  in  the  northern,  midland,  and  south- 
ern parts  of  English  Britain,  respectively.  Owing  to  the 
long  political  supremacy  of  Wessex,  the  southern  dialect 
attained  a  decided  literary  supremacy  toward  the  end  of 
the  Old  English  period,  and  nearly  all  the  Old  English 
literature  that  has  come  down  to  us  is  written  in  West 
Saxon.  Several  centuries  later,  however,  after  the 
Norman  Conquest,  the  speech  of  the  midland  counties 
became  the  prevailing  dialect,  and  from  it  grew  our 
modern  English  language.  Thus  it  appears  that  the 
standard  Old  English  was  not  the  parent  of  the  standard 
modern  English,  in  the  strictest  sense ;  but  the  con- 
nection between  the  different  parts  of  England  was  so 
close,  even  in  early  times,  that  the  dialects  influenced 
each  other  very  materially,  and  modern  English  there- 
fore contains  many  words  which  owe  their  form  to  the 
northern  or  southern  dialect  rather  than  to  the  Mercian. 
Indeed  it  is  hardly  fair  to  say  that  it  is  descended  from 
the  Mercian  dialect  at  all,  except  in  a  geographical 
sense. 

Old  English,  in  all  its  dialectic  forms,  was  a  much 
more  synthetic  language  than  our  modern  tongue. 
There  were  several  declensions  of  nouns,  with  from 
four  to  six  distinct  case-forms,  and  two  declensions  of 
adjectives  corresponding  to  those  of  modern  German. 
Verbs,  too,  were  somewhat  more  freely  inflected  than 
they  are  now.  The  language,  of  course,  lacked  nearly 
all  our  words  of  Eatin  origin,  and  while  much  of  its 
vocabulary  has    remained,   it   possessed   manN'  Teutonic 


TIIK    MAKINO    OF    THE    LANCiUAGE  23 

words  which   have  been   lost.       The  student   will    have 
little  difficulty   in   identifying  the  following-  specimen  : 

On  anginne  gesceop  God  heofonan  and  eoriSan.'  _2eo 
eorc'Se  was  idel  and  Eemtig ;  and  Mestru  wSron  ofer  Sare 
neowolnesse  bradnesse  ;  and  Godes  gast  was  gefered  ofer 
wateru.  God  cwaS  M,  "GeweorSe  leoht " ;  and  leoht 
wearS  geworht. 

13.  Latin  and  Old  French.  —  The  French  are  a  Celtic 
race,  but  their  language  is  not  a  Celtic  language.  They 
lost  their  original  tongue  when  the  Romans  conquered 
Gaul.  It  wnll  be  remembered  that  Roman  rule  in  Britain 
never  wholly  Latinized  the  British  Celts  ;  but  the  fortune 
of  their  Gallic  cousins  was  far  different.  This  was 
because  Gaul  became  a  Roman  province  a  whole  cen- 
tury earlier,  and  because  it  w^as  nearer  to  Rome.  Thus 
it  came  about  that  before  the  Roman  Empire  itself  was 
endangered  by  barbarian  foes,  there  had  been  ample 
time  for  the  Gauls  to  become  in  effect  Romans.  They 
spoke  Latin,  not  that  of  Cicero  and  Vergil,  but  the  Low 
Latin  of  the  Roman  camps.  This  Low  Latin,  in  the 
mouths  of  people  without  any  literature,  became  more 
and  more  perverted,  and  finally  assumed  the  forms  which 
we  know  as  the  Romance  languages.  In  Spain  it  be- 
came Spanish,  in  France  it  became  French,  or,  as  we 
call  the  language  of  the  middle  ages.  Old  French. 

The  change  from  Low  Latin  to  French  may  be 
briefly  described  as  a  process  of  crushing.  The  most 
striking  fact  about  it  is  that  the  accented  syllable  of  a 
Latin  word  w^as  retained,  though  perhaps  altered ;  but 
the  syllables  before  the  accent  were  frequently  crushed 

1  The  character  5  represents  the  sound  of  the  modern  tk. 


24  EARLY    KNGLISII    LITKRATURE 

together,  or  syncopated,  and  those  after  the  accent  were 
regularly  lopped  off  altogether,  or  replaced  by  an  c  mute. 
Thus  cabalhmi  becomes  cJicval,  datimatiami  becomes 
domviagc,  cxfrigidare  becomes  effrayer,  patretn  becomes 
pbre.  The  permanence  of  the  accented  syllable  accounts 
for  some  interesting  phenomena  in  the  case  of  words 
which  change  their  accent  with  inflectional  endings. 
Thus  from  senior  and  scniorcui  came  the  doublets  sire 
and  seigneur ;  from  trovator  and  trovatorem,  troiivere 
and  troubadour. 

This  crushing  process  was,  of  course,  only  one  of  a 
number  of  changes  which  regularly  took  place  in  the 
passage  from  Latin  into  French.  It  will  serve,  however, 
as  a  type,  and  will  suggest  how  complicated  has  been 
the  history  of  those  Latin  words  which  have  found  their 
way  through  the  French  into  our  own  language.  Here, 
however,  caution  must  be  observed.  The  most  common 
of  our  Latin  words  came  to  us  by  reason  of  the  Norman 
Conquest  ;  they  were  French  before  they  became  Eng- 
lish ;  but  we  have  also  received  Latin  words  from  other 
sources.  In  the  first  place,  the  Celtic  Britons  used 
Latin  freely,  and  they  doubtless  contributed  a  very  few 
Latin  words  to  the  vocabulary  of  their  English  conquer- 
ors. Moujit  is  probably  an  example  ;  and  the  endings 
-caster  and  -chester  in  names  of  English  towns  indicate 
the  sites  of  fortified  camps  (castra)  in  the  period  of 
Roman  occupation.  In  the  second  place,  several  hun- 
dred words  came  from  direct  contact  between  Rome  and 
the  Engli.sh  before  the  Norman  Conquest.  We  might 
lliink,  for  example,  that  because  the  word  butter  occurs 
in  both  English  and  German,  it  must  have  belonged  to 


THE    MAKING   OF   THE    LANGUAGE  25 

the  common  Teutonic  stock  ;  but  in  fact  it  is  not  improb- 
able that  the  Teutonic  races  never  ate  the  article  until 
they  heard  of  it  from  the  Romans  as  buteriicm.  Thirdly. 
a  vast  number  of  words  have  been  knowingly  borrowed 
from  the  Latin  in  more  modern  times.  Such  a  word  as 
iinintclligibility  did  not,  of  course,  pass  naturally  from 
Latin  through  French  to  English  ;  it  was  created  bodily 
by  some  person  with  a  classical  education,  who  was  con- 
sciously adapting  means  to  ends.  Such  words  are  often 
easily  distinguishable  from  those  of  natural  growth,  for 
they  have  not  gone  through  the  crushing  process.  For 
example,  legalitatcm  became  in  Old  French  loyaltd. 
Modern  French  has  it  in  the  form  loyatite,  but  it  grew 
into  English  before  it  lost  the  second  /,  and  our  loyalty 
is  the  result.  The  word  legality,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
a  learned  word  from  the  same  original.  It  should  be 
noted  that  the  latter  word  preserves  the  Latin  sense, 
as  well  as  its  form,  more  purely  than  the  other. 

14.  The  Development  of  Middle  English.  —  For  three 
centuries  after  the  Norman  Conquest  two  languages 
were  spoken  in  England.  French  and  English  did  not 
mix,  because  the  two  races  held  apart,  and  we  therefore 
find  that  English  remained  comparatively  pure  for  about 
a  century.  It  is  usual  to  assign  the  date  11 50  for  the 
end  of  Old  and  the  beginning  of  Middle  English,  but  of 
course  it  must  be  under-stood  that  the  change  was  a 
gradual  one.  A  Norman  baron  perhaps  had  an  English 
wife  ;  certainly  he  had  English  tenants  and  serv-ants, 
and  in  later  times  he  had  common  political  interests  w'ith 
Englishmen  of  all  classes.  The  two  races  had  to  speak 
a  common   language,  and  the   language  they  gradually 


26  KARl.V    KNf.T.TSTI    LITERATURE 

learned  to  speak  was  a  compromise  between  luiglish  and 
b'rench.  Naturally  enough,  words  in  the  new  language 
which  were  more  often  used  by  the  court  circles  were 
of  French  origin,  while  the  everyday  words  of  common 
people  were  English.  Readers  of  IvanJwe  will  remem- 
ber that  what  the  English  herdsman  called  ox  became 
beef  when  it  was  killed  and  dressed  for  the  Norman's 
board.  In  like  manner  we  inherit  from  Old  P^nglish 
most  such  words  as  laiid,  tree,  grass,  field,  sew,  sow, 
reap,  mow,  bake ;  while  from  French  come  such  words 
as  armor,  homage,  park,  peer,  ransom,  castle,  tapestry, 
duke. 

The  French  and  English  words  in  the  new  language 
were  about  equally  numerous  ;  but  nevertheless  the 
French  element  is  of  comparatix'ely  very  small  importance 
in  either  Middle  or  Modern  P^nglish.  This  is  for  two 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  the  English  words  are  those 
that  we  use  oftenest.  "The  article  the,  for  illustration, 
is  found  in  nearly  every  sentence  of  ShakesjDeare  ;  but  in 
estimating  his  whole  vocabulary  it  is  reckoned  for  no 
more  than,  for  instance,  coiisin-german  ox  fanatical,  either 
one  of  which  appears  only  once  in  all  his  writings."  ^ 
An  author  who  uses  as  many  French  as  English  words 
may  easily  use  the  latter  so  much  oftener  that  the  total 
French  element  in  his  style  will  amount  to  only  ten  or 
fifteen  per  cent. 

In  the  second  place,  the  inflections  of  the  new  speech 
were  English  rather  than  French.  These  are  what 
mark  the  real  controlling  genius  of  a  language.  When 
we   borrow  a  French   verb,  for   example,  we  naturally 

1  Lounsbury,  History  of  the  English  Language,  p.  105. 


Tdl'.    MAKINC    OK    THE    T.ANCxUAGE  2/ 

conjui;atc  it  accordin^i;  to  English  custom.  It  would 
be  as  absurd  to  say  /  rcconnais  for  /  rtxojuioitrcd  as  to 
say  /  tclcgrapsa  for  /  telegraphed.  This  is  because  the 
essentials  of  English  grammar  are  deeply  rooted  in  the 
consciousness  of  every  one  of  us.  The  same  thing  was 
true  in  the  Middle  English  period,  and  the  French  words 
then  taken  in  were  subjected  to  a  thoroughly  English 
treatment. 

Still,  the  French  language  did  exert  a  considerable 
influence  upon  English  syntax,  and  even  upon  English 
forms.  It  aided  largely  in  making  English  an  analytic 
rather  than  a  synthetic  language ;  that  is,  in  substi- 
tuting the  use  of  prepositions  and  auxiliaries  for  inflec- 
tional endings.  We  say  to  send  instead  of  sendan,  and 
tJie  face  of  tJie  deep  for  r^aere  neozvolnesse  bradnesse.  In 
Old  English  such  analytic  phrases  were  not  uncommon, 
and  there  was  a  growing  tendency  to  favor  them  ;  but 
the  French  influence  doubtless  strengthened  this  tend- 
ency materially.  The  loss  of  inflectional  endings  was 
natural  under  the  circumstances,  for  they  are  hard  things 
for  a  foreigner  to  master. 

The  Old  English  plural  ended  sometimes  in  -as,  some- 
times in  -an  ;  sometimes  it  was  formed  in  other  ways,  as 
by  modifying  the  root  vowel.  We  have  survivals  of  the 
three  forms  specified  in  the  plurals  of  day,  ox,  and  man, 
respectively.  In  French  the  plural  was  regularly  formed 
by  adding  s,  and  therefore  the  tendency  of  Normans 
would  naturally  be  to  favor  the  first  of  the  three  English 
modes  of  declension.  In  fact,  the  j  form  became  almost 
invariable  in  Middle  and  Modern  English,  and  this  may 
be  ascribed  largely  to  French   influence.      So  also  the 


28  EARLY    KNGJJSH    LITERATI' RK 

increased  use  of  viore  and  most  in  the  comparison  of 
adjectives,  and  the  ahnost  total  loss  of  gender  in  English 
substantives,  would  be  natural  results  of  the  foreigner's 
confusion  of  mind,  although  we  cannot  say  that  with- 
out French  influence  they  would  not  have  occurred 
at  all. 

15.  English  Dialects.  —  In  the  Middle  English  period 
the  language  was  still  by  no  means  the  same  throughout 
England.  The  three  principal  dialects  —  Northern,  Mid- 
land, and  Southern  - —  were  descended  from  the  Northum- 
brian, Mercian,  and  West  Saxon  of  the  Old  English 
period,  though  with  so  much  adulteration  from  each 
other  and  from  outside  that  their  descent  is  thoroughly 
obscured.  The  three  can  by  no  means  be  defined  by 
exact  geographical  limits,  though  in  a  general  way  the 
Humber  and  the  Thames  may  be  regarded  as  marking 
their  boundaries  ;  for  in  the  same  region  different  classes 
of  people  often  spoke  differently,  and  in  the  speech  of 
many  there  was  some  mixture  of  dialects.  Neverthe- 
less the  local  characteristics  were  striking  enough,  and 
while  comparatively  few  spoke  a  single  dialect  in  perfect 
purity,  there  were  several  recognized  standards,  and 
each  person  conformed  to  one  of  them  with  more  or  less 
strictness.  For  example,  in  the  North  the  usual  form 
for  "we  hope  "  was  %ve  hopes,  while  the  Midland  was  wc 
Jiopeii,  and  the  Southern  xve  Jiopeth.  Literature  was  pro- 
duced in  all  three  dialects,  but  when  a  northern  manu- 
script was  copied  by  a  southern  or  midland  clerk  there 
was  naturally  some  confusion  of  forms,  and  we  therefore 
have  in  our  extant  mediaeval  literature  a  mixture  which 
sometimes  proves  very  puzzling. 


Tin<;    MAKINd    OF    THE    LANGUAGE  29 

These  dialects  still  survixc,  but  there  is  no  longer  a 
triple  standard.  As  communication  became  easier,  and 
education  more  general,  one  or  another  of  the  dialects 
necessarily  had  to  take  the  lead.  The  favored  one,  as 
it  happened,  was  the  Midland,  and  especially  that  variety 
known  as  East  Midland.  The  reason  for  this  was  chiefly 
that  London,  Oxford,  and  Cambridge  were  all  in  the 
eastern  midland  counties,  and  the  court  and  the  univer- 
sities thus  combined  to  fix  a  standard  for  educated  men. 
Well<lefined  dialects  of  English  are  still  spoken  in 
Yorkshire,  Somersetshire,  Dorsetshire,  and  elsewhere, 
but  only  by  the  less  educated  classes.  In  America  the 
old  dialects  hardl}'  exist  at  all,  for  a  Yorkshire  immigrant 
does  not  generally  settle  among  neighbors  who  speak 
like  himself  ;  and  his  children,  in  consequence,  are  not 
limited  to  his  dialect.  Most  native  Americans,  therefore, 
talk  substantially  alike,  but  two  uneducated  workingmen 
from  opposite  corners  of  England  can  hardly  understand 
each  other. 

The  northern  dialect  has  had  a  more  illustrious  his- 
tory than  the  southern,  for  it  developed  into  what  we 
now  call  Scotch.  This,  of  course,  is  very  different  from 
the  Gaelic  of  the  Scotch  Highlands,  which  is  a  Celtic 
language.  Scotch  is  not  a  distinct  language  at  all,  but 
a  dialect  of  English.  The  reason  wh)-  it  has  maintained 
such  a  comparatively  independent  position  is  that  Scot- 
land until  1603  was  a  separate  kingdom.  As  East  Mid- 
land attained  supremacy  over  the  other  dialects,  it 
gradually  became  the  standard  speech  in  England  north 
of  the  Humber  ;  but  across  the  Scottish  border  there 
was  a  separate  national  life,  and  the  influences  of  London, 


30  EARLY    KNCUJSir    LITERATURE 

Oxford,  and  Cambridge  were  hardly  felt.  The  Scotch 
people  of  the  fifteenth  century  called  their  language  Eng- 
lish, and  it  had  as  good  a  right  to  the  name  as  the  English 
of  England.  It  was  only  upon  the  union  of  the  kingdoms 
that  the  northern  dialect  lost  its  independent  position. 
Until  Shakespeare's  time  any  Scotchman  who  wrote  a 
book  would  naturally  use  his  own  form  of  the  language. 
Now  it  is  hardly  written  at  all,  except  to  give  local  color 
in  songs  or  novels,  or  for  other  special  purposes. 

16.  Miscellaneous  Foreign  Influences.  —  The  great  major- 
ity of  words  in  the  dictionary  are  foreign-born,  but  the 
native  words  are  the  blood  and  bone  of  the  language. 
With  the  exception  of  the  mediaeval  French  influence, 
already  pointed  out,  no  foreign  influence  has  materially 
affected  its  spirit.  An  enormous  number  of  compara- 
tively recent  borrowings,  such  as  czar,  banyan,  caout- 
cJiouc,  help  to  swell  our  vocabulary,  but  the  real  genius 
of  the  language  owes  nothing  to  Poland,  Hindustan,  or 
South  America  ;  and  a  similar  assertion  might  be  made, 
though  with  less  absolute  truth,  of  the  learned  and  scien- 
tific words  from  Greek  and  Latin,  such  as  electricity, 
locomotive,  cryptogram. 

There  are  two  languages,  how^ever,  which  we  should 
expect  to  find  exerting  a  considerable  influence  on  our 
own,  namely,  the  Celtic  language  of  the  early  Britons 
and  the  Old  Norse.  Many  efforts  have  been  made  to 
identify  the  Celtic  elements  in  English,  and  there  are 
long  lists  of  English  words  which  have  their  analogues 
in  Welsh,  or  Gaelic,  or  even  Irish.  Among  these  are 
basket,  garter,  biittoji,  pail,  gown,  pot,  bug;  and  it  is 
argued  that  when  the  PInglish  conquered  the  Celts  the 


tup:  makinCx  of  the  language  31 

latter  lived  among  them  only  as  slaves  or  wives,  and  these 
are  just  the  sort  of  words  that  would  be  likely,  under 
those  circumstances,  to  creep  in.  In  fact,  however,  it 
is  generally  impossible  to  prove  that  such  words  were 
not  borrowed  by  the  Celts  from  the  English  ;  their  mere 
presence  in  two  languages  proves  nothing.  Moreover, 
they  may  have  come  down  in  both  languages  from  the 
original  Indo-European.  The  proportion  of  words  that 
can  be  proved  to  have  come  to  us  from  the  early  Britons 
is  infinitesimal.  The  Celtic  languages  seem  somehow  to 
have  been  made  of  very  perishable  stuff,  for  that  spoken 
in  Gaul  also  disappeared  almost  entirely  under  the  Roman 
rule. 

With  Old  Norse,  the  language  of  the  early  Danes,  the 
case  is  somewhat  different.  Several  hundred  words 
were  undoubtedly  contributed  from  this  source,  and  they 
are  words  which  count,  for  they  are  of  the  homely, 
everyday  sort.  There  is,  however,  great  difificulty  in 
identifying  them.  The  Danes  settled  chiefly  in  the 
north,  and  the  influence  of  Old  Norse  was  therefore 
exerted  chiefly  on  the  northern  dialect  of  Old  English. 
Since,  therefore,  almost  all  the  extant  specimens  of  Old 
English  are  in  West  Saxon,  it  is  only  in  the  Middle 
English  period,  some  three  centuries  or  more  after  their 
introduction,  that  these  words  become  very  conspicuous 
in  our  literature.  Moreover,  Old  Norse  and  Old  Eng- 
lish were  closely  related  languages,  and  therefore,  when 
we  find  in  a  thirteenth-century  writer  a  word  that  was 
unquestionably  good  Norse,  we  cannot  always  be  sure 
that  it  was  not  good  Old  English  also  ;  it  may  be  a  mere 
chance  that  no  early  West  Saxon  writer  put  it  in  a  book. 


CHAPTER    III 

OLD   ENGLISH   LITERATURE 

17.  Widsith.  —  About  the  time  of  the  Norman  Con- 
quest, a  certain  Bishop  of  Exeter  presented  to  his 
cathedral  a  valuable  collection  of  manuscript  poems, 
all  fastened  together  in  the  form  of  one  book.  This 
collection  is  still  extant  under  the  name  of  the  Exeter 
Book,  although  it  has  suffered  considerably  from  water 
and  fire,  and  it  is  one  of  our  chief  sources  of  information 
about  Old  English.  Concerning  some  of  the  poems 
which  it  contains,  we  have  knowledge  from  other 
sources  also,  so  that  we  can  name  their  authors  and 
fix  their  dates  ;  but  many  of  them  are  known  to  us 
solely  by  their  inclusion  in  this  book. 

One  of  the  latter,  a  poem  of  143  lines,  begins  with 
the  words  "  Widsi5  maSolade,  wordhord  onleac "  ; 
that  is,  "Widsith  spoke,  unlocked  (his)  word-hoard." 
The  first  word  is  evidently  used  as  a  proper  name,  but 
it  seems  to  mean  "Wide-way,"  or  (more  intelligibly) 
"  the  far-traveler."  After  a  few  introductory  lines  we 
come  to  what  Widsith  said,  and  the  rest  of  the  poem  is 
in  the  first  person.  It  gives  a  rather  unliterary  cata- 
logue of  persons  and  places  that  Widsith  has  visited. 
Among  others,  he  visited  Hermanric,  king  of  the  Goths, 
and  received  hospitable  treatment  at  his  hands.  Now 
Hermanric,  the  king  of  the  Ostrogoths,  died  in   376  ; 

32 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURP:  33 

and  the  first  permanent  settlement  of  the  English  in 
England  was  not  till  449.  It  looks,  therefore,  as  if  we 
had  in  Widsith's  song  a  relic  of  continental  English 
literature.  The  introductory  lines  above  referred  to 
are  consistent  with  this  view,  for,  in  giving  a  brief 
account  of  Widsith,  before  the  actual  unlocking  of  his 
"word-hoard,"  they  say  that  he  "was  born  among  the 
Myrgings,  and  for  his  first  journey  sought  the  home  of 
the  fierce  king  Hermanric,  to  the  east  of  Ongle."  It 
is  hard  to  say  who  the  Myrgings  were,  but  "  Ongle  " 
seems  to  be  Anglia,  and  may  well  designate  the  original 
home  of  the  Angles. 

There  are,  however,  difficulties  about  this  explanation. 
Widsith  mentions  a  certain  Theodoric,  king  of  the 
Franks,  who  did  not  succeed  to  the  throne  till  511.  It 
is  obviously  impossible  that  the  same  person  could  visit 
Hermanric  and  mention  Theodoric,  and  we  therefore 
see  that  the  story  of  Widsith  either  is  fictitious  or  has 
suffered  from  late  interpolations. 

The  latter  alternative  is  easy  to  accept.  The  profes- 
sional poets  of  the  early  English  were  wandering  min- 
strels, who  played  their  harps  and  chanted  their  poems 
in  the  halls  of  their  entertainers.  Their  songs  were 
sometimes  original,  sometimes  learned  from  others.  If 
we  assume  that  Widsith  was  a  real  poet,  who  achieved 
fame  before  the  English  came  to  England ;  that  the 
introductory  lines  of  the  extant  poem  are  merely  a  set- 
ting given  to  one  of  his  songs  by  a  later  poet  who 
revered  his  memory  ;  and  that  in  oral  transmission  for 
many  generations,  while  the  real  spirit  of  the  song  was 
preserved,  it  became  confused  in  matters  of  detail  ;  if 


34  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

we  assume  all  this,  we  assume  what  we  cannot  prove, 
but  all  is  well  within  the  limits  of  probability.  We 
may  at  least  feel  reasonably  certain  that  the  nu- 
cleus of  Widsith's  song  is  older  than  the  invasion 
of  England ;  that  it  is  indeed  one  of  the  oldest,  and 
perhaps  the  very  oldest,  of  extant  specimens  of 
English  literature. 

The  poem  itself  contains  evidence  of  the  mode  of  life 
of  the  poet.  The  introduction  tells  us  that  Widsith  was 
the  greatest  of  travelers,  and  that  "  he  often  received 
valuable  gifts  in  the  hall ; "  and  the  body  of  the  poem 
says,  "  I  was  among  the  Burgundians,  where  I  received 
a  bracelet ;  there  Guthere  gave  me  welcome  treasure 
to  rew^ard  my  song;  no  careless  king  was  he."  The 
concluding  sentiment  comes  appropriately  from  the  lips 
of  such  a  man  : 

Thus  poets  wander  over  the  world. 

With  songs  of  grief  or  grateful  praises ; 

And  some  they  see  in  south  or  north, 

Lovers  of  song,  largesse-givers. 

Who  are  willing  to  win  the  highest  praise 

Above  their  peers,  until  all  things  pass, 

Life  and   light  together :    they  who  love  renown 

Have  under  heaven  the  highest  glory. 

18.  Beowulf.  —  The  most  important  monument  of 
Old  English  literature  is  Bcozvulf,  an  epic  poem  of  3183 
lines.  This,  like  WidsitJi,  exists  in  only  one  manuscript, 
and  our  knowledge  of  its  origin  and  history  must 
be  obtained  from  internal  evidence.  The  manuscript 
appears  to  have  been  written  early  in  the  tenth  century. 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  35 

The  poem  itself  is  certainly  much  older  than  that,  but  it 
is  not  possible  to  fix  its  age  exactly. 

Beowulf  is  the  name  of  the  hero,  and  the  epic  con- 
tains an  account  of  two  periods  in  his  life.  The  first 
part  deals  with  his  fight  with  a  strange  monster,  Gren- 
del.  This  creature  had  been  for  many  years  preying 
upon  the  warriors  of  the  good  king  Hrothgar,  enter- 
ing his  hall  by  night  and  dragging  them  away  to  be 
devoured  in  the  wilderness.  Beowulf  comes  from  over 
the  sea,  undertakes  to  sleep  in  the  hall,  and  when  Gren- 
del  enters  grapples  with  him.  VV^eapons  are  useless 
against  the  monster,  but  Beowulf  in  the  fight  tears 
off  his  arm,  and  Grendel  rushes  away  to  die.  After 
rejoicing  and  thanksgiving,  Grendel's  mother  appears 
seeking  vengeance,  and  Beowulf's  heroism,  again  put 
to  the  proof,  is  again  triumphant.  The  latter  part  of 
the  poem  deals  with  Beowulf  in  his  old  age,  after  he 
has  become  king  in  his  own  land  across  the  sea.  A 
fiery  dragon  is  ravaging  the  land,  and  the  aged  warrior 
seeks  him  in  his  lair.  He  kills  the  dragon,  but  is 
himself  fatally  hurt. 

The  latter  part  of  the  poem  is  supposed  to  be  based 
upon  a  solar  myth  ;  in  other  words,  it  is  thought  that 
the  fight  with  the  dragon  represents  the  struggle  of  the 
summer's  warmth  with  the  winter's  storms,  showing  how 
summer  wins  a  victory  for  the  moment,  but  eventually 
passes  away.  Myths  of  this  character  are  certainly 
common  among  primitive  peoples,  and  perhaps  they  are 
based  upon  natural  phenomena  ;  but  however  that  may 
be,  it  seems  likely  that  there  is  some  foundation  in  fact 
for  the  story  of  Beowulf.     The  most  generally  accepted 


36  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

theory  is  that  the  hero  was  a  real  person,  and  that  the 
epic  is  founded  upon  his  actual  deeds.  Tradition,  of 
course,  greatly  exaggerated  those  deeds  ;  and  perhaps 
the  exaggerated  tales  about  Beowulf,  the  slayer  f)f  mon- 
sters, became  somehow  confused  in  the  minds  of  our 
forefathers  with  the  old  allegorical  tale  about  winter  and 
summer.  Theories  of  this  kind,  Jiowever,  must  be  re- 
ceived with  caution.  Scholars  sometimes  undervalue 
the  inventive  imagination  of  our  early  story-tellers,  in 
their  eagerness  to  explain  literary  phenomena. 

It  is  impossible  to  determine  where  or  when  the  poem 
was  composed.  It  is  puzzling  to  find  that  Hrothgar's 
home,  the  scene  of  the  first  part,  is  apparently  in  Den- 
mark, and  that  Beowulf's  own  kingdom  is  in  Sweden. 
There  is  no  mention  of  England,  or  the  Angles,  or  the 
Saxons.  On  the  other  hand,  the  epic  exists  only  in 
English,  and  occasional  allusions  to  the  Christian  reli- 
gion show  that  it  cannot  have  taken  its  present  form 
before  the  seventh  century.  By  that  time  the  English 
were  well  established  in  England,  and  would  naturally 
have  lost  all  interest  in  places  so  foreign  as  Denmark 
and  Sweden.  It  is  clear  that  these  religious  allusions 
must  be  later  interpolations.  Perhaps  the  most  plausible 
theory  is  that  the  story  existed  among  the  English  in 
the  form  of  several  short  poems  when  they  were  still  on 
the  continent,  near  neighbors  of  the  Danes  and  Swedes  ; 
and  that  those  stories,  brought  to  England  by  men  of 
Widsith's  profession,  were  pieced  together  at  some  time 
in  the  eighth  century  by  some  Christian  editor. 

19.  Beowulf  (continued).  —  Old  Engli.sh  verse  sounds  to 
our  cars  decided])-  uncouth.     Poetry  was  written  in  lines 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  37 

with  four  accented  syllables,  and  a  \^arying  number  of 
others.     Thus  Beoiuiilf  begins  : 

Hwaet !    we  Gar-Dena         in  gear-dagum 
(Seod-cyninga         (Srym  gefrunon, 

which  may  be  imitated  in  Modern  English  as  follows  : 

Ho  !    of  the  Danes  in  days  of  yore 

The  proud  princes         we  have  heard  the  praises. 

One  of  the  first  two  accented  syllables  always  begins 
with  the  same  sound  as  one  of  the  last  two.  This  allit- 
eration is  often  found  in  three  of  the  syllables,  and  some- 
times in  all  four.  Modern  scholars  have  found  laws 
which  regulate  the  number  and  position  of  the  unac- 
cented syllables  also,  but  to  an  unlearned  reader  they 
look  as  if  they  w^ere  allowed  to  come  in  at  random, 
wherever  it  was  convenient.  The  verse,  therefore,  often 
does  not  seem  rhythmical  at  all,  and  a  hasty  judgment 
would  be  that  our  forefathers  had  no  ear  for  poetry  ;  but 
the  very  fact  that  these  matters  are  regulated  by  laws, 
and  that  those  laws  are  somewhat  complicated  and  hard 
for  us  to  grasp,  shows  that  the  early  English  really  did 
enjoy  and  appreciate  their  verse  in  a  way  in  which  we 
ourselves  are  unable  to  follow  them.  It  is  not  impossi- 
ble that  with  the  change  in  our  language  we  have  lost 
some  part  of  the  language  faculty,  somewhat  as  modern 
races  in  general  have  lost  the  classical  sense  for  quan- 
tity ;  but  it  seems  more  likely  that  the  Old  English 
poets  fitted  their  verse  somehow  to  their  harp  music, 
and  it  is  perhaps  because  we  know  so  little  about  their 
music  that  we  are  unable  fully  to  understand  how  their 
verse  appealed  to  them. 


38  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Old  English  poetry  was  often  formless,  inartistic  in 
general  structure.  The  story  of  Beozviilf,  as  a  story, 
is  not  very  well  told.  There  are  confusing  digressions, 
and  due  proportion  is  not  alwa}s  observed  between  the 
important  and  the  unimportant.  Everything  is  rough- 
hewn.  The  poets  were  fond  of  using  unfamiliar  words 
and  strange,  heavy  phrases,  and  the  lumbering  move- 
ment of  their  verse  is  thereby  made  (for  our  ears)  still 
more  awkward.  Thus  the  introductory  lines  of  Beo- 
wulf, describing  an  ancestor  of  Hrothgar,  say  : 

He  waxed  under  welkin,  throve  with  worship, 

Until  each  singly  of  the  near-sitters 

Over  the  whale-path         had  to  hearken 
And  give  tribute  ;  a  good  king  was  he. 

The  "near-sitters  over  the  whale-path  "  are  "neighbors 
over  the  sea." 

The  earliest  poets  were  perhaps  at  their  best  in 
certain  kinds  of  description.  Here  is. a  part  of  the 
account  of  the  abode  of  Grendel  and  his  mother,  freely 
paraphrased  : 

They  dwell  in  a  wilderness  by  wolves  haunted, 
Where  the  fen-path  winds  by  windy  headlands 
And  the  mountain  waterfall  is  mist-shrouded. 
Not  many  miles  hence  the  mere  standeth. 
There  in  hoary  whiteness  forests  overhang. 
Leaning  over  the  water  with  roots  interlocked, 
And  fires  are  flaming  horridly  on  the  flood, 
A  nightly  wonder.     No  man  so  wise 
Of  the  sons  of  our  fathers  as  to  fathom  that  depth. 
The  hound-driven  hart  will  not  hide  his  head  there, 
But  yields  life  and  breath,  exhausted,  on  the  brink. 


(^LD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  39 

The  poet  was  evidently  at  home  in  the  description  of 
wild  scenery.  Sometimes  he  is  merely  sensational,  but 
often  his  verses  have  a  grandeur  and  a  gloom  that  are 
legitimately  thrilling.  The  sea  was  his  favorite  element, 
—  not  the  smooth,  sunshiny  surface,  but  the  thunder- 
ing, storm-swept  deeps,  peopled  with  strange  horrors. 
The  blood  of  the  Vikings  is  in  his  poetry. 

The  ruling  sentiments  of  the  poet  or  poets  of  Beowulf 
seem  to  be  that  glory  and  honor  are  the  highest  good 
possible  to  man,  but  that  Wyrd  (Fate)  is  the  supreme 
arbiter  of  our  destinies,  and  that  we  cannot  control 
them.  When  Beowulf  goes  to  meet  the  dragon  in  his 
last  fight,  he  says,  "  I  will  not  flee  one  foot  before  him ; 
yet  it  shall  be  decided  between  us  as  Wyrd  shall  allot, 
the  supreme  god  of  every  man."  This  is  not  an  orien- 
tal fatalism  ;  there  is  no  passive  recumbency  about  it ; 
yet  its  spirit  is  far  from  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and 
it  is  clear  that  the  final  editor  of  Beozvulf,  while  he 
added  Christian  touches  here  and  there,  did  not  attempt 
to  root  out  the  essential  paganism  of  his  original.  There 
is  a  high  moral  spirit  in  the  poem,  but  the  morals  are 
those  of  the  pagan  warrior  hero,  not  of  the  cloister. 

One  other  characteristic  picture  in  the  epic  must  be 
noted.  The  fight  with  Grendel's  mother  took  place  at 
the  bottom  of  the  horrid  pool  already  described.  Beo- 
wulf had  said  farewell  to  his  friends  on  the  bank  and 
plunged  in.  With  grotesque  exaggeration  we  are  told 
that  it  took  him  nearly  a  whole  -day  to  sink  to  the 
bottom,  and  many  hours  more  were  consumed  before 
he  won  the  victory  and  swam  up  to  the  surface.  Mean- 
while his  friends,  both  the  Danes  with   Hrothgar  and 


40  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Beowulf's  own  companions  from  over  the  sea,  gave  him 
up  for  lost. 

The  noon-day  came,  they  quitted  the  cliff. 
The  hasty  Danes,  and  Hrothgar  homeward 
Started  with  them :  but  the  strangers  sat 
And  gazed  heart-sick  at  the  gloomy  mere, 
Wishing  (not  weening)  ever  to  win 
Their  dear  lord  back. 

Here  we  see  that  with  all  the  gloorii  and  fierceness 
there  is  yet  room  for  softer  feeling  now  and  then. 
Tennyson's  prince  might  w^ell  have  had  the  spirit  of 
Beowulf  m  mind  when  he  sang  "dark  and  true  and 
tender  is  the  north."  ^ 

20.  Caedmon  and  Bede.  —  The  earliest  English  poetry 
by  a  known  author  is  Caedmon' s,  and  the  earliest  prose 
was  Bede's.  Caedmon  died  at  an  advanced  age  in  680, 
Bede  being  at  the  time  in  his  boyhood.  This  was  at 
the  time  of  the  Northumbrian  kingdom's  supremacy,  and 
both  these  writers  were  Northumbrians.  That  kingdom 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  Heptarchy  in  literature  and 
learning,  as  well  as  in  political  and  military  power. 

Ca^dmon's  poetry  is  nearly  all  lost,  but  we  know  its 
character  from  Bede's  account  of  it  in  his  Ecclesiastical 
History,  and  there  are  still  in  existence  a  few  verses 
which  are  thought  to  have  opened  Caedmon's  first 
poem.     They  are  substantially  as  follows  : 

Now  let  us  hallow  the  heaven's  warder, 
The  Maker's  might  and  the  thoughts  of  his  mind. 
The  World-father's  work,  how  of  all  wonders 
The  God  of  Glory  made  a  beginning. 

1  Compare  Stopford  Brooke,  English  Literature,  p.  iS. 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITLRATUKE  41 

Cxdmon's  muse  was  wholly  devoted  to  religion.  He 
composed  metrical  paraphrases  of  the  scriptural  accounts 
ol  the  Creation,  the  Exodus,  the  life  of  Christ,  and  the 
teaching  of  the  apostles.  Poems  of  this  general  char- 
acter are  still  extant,  and  two  in  particular,  known  as 
the  Genesis  and  the  Exodus,  were  until  recently  thought 
to  be  Cctdmon's  ;  but  careful  study  has  shown  that 
different  parts  of  these  poems  must  have  been  written 
by  different  authors,  and  that  very  little  of  them  could 
possibly  have  been  written  by  C?edmon. 

Thus  it  appears  that  after  the  English  became  thor- 
oughly established  in  England,  there  was  a  sweeping 
change  in  the  spirit  of  their  literature.  This  was  of 
course  due  to  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  but  more 
especially  to  the  introduction  of  monastic  institutions. 
The  time  of  Casdmon  and  Bede  was  just  the  time  when 
the  monastic  system  was  most  flourishing  and  pure. 
This  was  the  case  everywhere,  but  perhaps  especially 
in  England.  Many  monasteries  were  founded  there  in 
the  seventh  century.  As  this  work  was  done  largely 
by  Celtic  missionaries  from  Ireland,  it  is  interesting  to 
note  that  much  of  the  new  character  in  English  litera- 
ture and  life  may  reasonably  be  regarded  as  springing 
from  the  seed  sown  two  centuries  before  by  St. 
Patrick. 

In  the  turbulent  dark  ages,  the  monastery  was  the 
only  place  where  those  who  loved  peace  and  learning 
could  find  congenial  surroundings.  The  ideal  of  the 
monastic  system  was  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  and 
at  this  period  the  ideal  was  actually  realized.  In  the 
daily  routine  of  monkish  labor  and  devotion  there  was  a 


42  EARLY    P:NGLISII    LITERATURE 

refined  tranquillity  not  to  be  found  beyond  the  monas- 
tery walls.  The  monks  collected  and  copied  manu- 
scripts, wrote  the  annals  of  their  own  societies  or  of  the 
outside  world,  studied  and  practiced  music,  the  decora- 
tive arts,  medicine,  agriculture,  architecture  ;  they  were 
missionaries  to  the  secular  world  not  only  of  religion 
but  also  of  the  arts  and  the  practical  sciences.  Mem- 
bers of  different  institutions  visited  one  another,  and 
thus  between  parts  of  England,  and  between  England 
and  the  continent,  there  was  a  free  and  friendly  exchange 
of  spiritual  and  intellectual  food.  The  best  youth  of 
the  time  were  irresistibly  attracted  to  this  life,  and  thus 
the  highest  culture  and  the  deepest  religion  of  the  time 
were  blended  together.  No  wonder  that  in  literature 
the  Beowulfian  ideal  of  pagan  heroism  dwindled  some- 
what before  the  scriptural  ideal  of  Christian  piety. 

Caedmon  was  a  servant  in  the  monastery  at  Whitby ; 
Bede  was  a  monk  at  J  arrow.  Bede  was  the  greatest 
scholar  of  his  time,  and  his  reputation  as  such  was 
world-wide.  He  was  esteemed  as  master  of  all  learning, 
and  scholars  came  from  remote  parts  of  the  continent 
to  be  taught  by  him.  He  wrote  of  music,  rhetoric, 
theology,  mathematics,  and  the  applied  sciences  ;  but 
in  general  his  works  hardly  belong  to  English  literature. 
The  monkish  language  all  over  the  western  world  was 
Latin,  and  in  that  language  nearly  all  Bede's  works 
were  written.  The  chief  of  these  is  the  Ecclesiastical 
History  of  Britain,  the  source  of  our  knowledge  of  Caed- 
mon, and  of  much  of  the  history  of  the  English  people. 
One  of  Bede's  latest  works,  however,  a  translation  of 
part  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  was  written  in  English 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  43 

for  the  use  of  the  less  learned  ;  and  because  of  this 
work  Bade  is  sometimes  called  the  "  father  of  luiglish 
prose."  The  work,  however,  is  no  longer  extant,  and 
the  title  is  of  questionable  propriety. 

21.  Cynewulf.  —  In  the  year  1822  a  German  scholar, 
traveling  in  Italy,  discovered  in  a  monastery  at  Vercelli 
a  manuscrij^t  volume  of  Old  English  sermons  and  poems. 
How  it  came  there  is  unknown  ;  but  there  is  nothing 
extraordinary  about  it,  for  Vercelli  was  a  common  rest- 
ing place  for  English  pilgrims  on  the  way  to  Rome. 
This  volume  (commonly  known  as  the  Vercelli  Book), 
and  the  Exeter  Book,  and  the  Bcoivulf  manuscript,  and 
a  manuscript  of  the  Genesis  and  the  Exodus,  contain 
nearly  all  that  remains  of  Old   English  poetry. 

Perhaps  the  best  poem  in  the  Vercelli  Book  is  that 
known  as  the  Elene,  which  describes  the  finding  of  the 
true  cross  by  the  Empress  Helena.  The  poem  begins 
by  telling  that  the  Emperor  Constantine,  on  the  eve  of 
a  battle  with  the  Huns  and  Goths,  had  a  vision  of  a 
jeweled  cross  above  the  clouds,  inscribed  with  the 
words,  "  By  this  sign  shalt  thou  overcome  the  foe." 
The  battle  was  fought  and  won,  and  then  Constantine, 
learning  for  the  first  time  what  the  cross  was,  sent  his 
mother,  Helena,  to  the  Holy  Land  to  seek  the  true 
original  of  the  symbol.  The  true  cross  and  the  two 
crosses  of  the  thieves  were,  by  miraculous  guidance, 
found  side  by  side.  All  three  were  tested  by  touching 
a  dead  body  with  each  in  turn,  and  when  at  the  third 
trial  the  corpse  was  brought  to  life,  the  empress  knew 
that  her  search  was  ended. 

Near  the  end  of  the  Elcne  the  poet  gives  his  own 


44  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

name  in  a  sort  of  riddling  acrostic.  He  does  this  by 
the  use  of  certain  runes,  or  letters  of  the  prehistoric 
alphabet  of  the  English  people.  These  letters  were 
called  by  the  names  of  things,  each  name  beginning 
with  the  sound  designated  by  the  corresponding  rune  ; 
as  if,  for  example,  we  called  the  letter  "a"  apricot,  the 
letter  "b"  bagpipe,  etc.  In  the  passage  referred  to, 
this  poet  simply  inserts  in  his  poem  eight  of  these  runes, 
at  intervals,  instead  of  spelling  out  the  words  which  are 
their  names.  He  is  giving  an  account  of  himself,  and 
he  says  that  even  in  his  prosperous  days  he  was  like  a 
failing  torch  (Cen),  and  that  the  fall  (Yr)  ^  of  his  friends 
brought  him  to  sorrow  (Nied)  ;  and  so  on  in  like  manner 
until  we  have  spelled  out  the  whole  name  Cvnewulf. 

The  poem  is  certainly  one  of  great  merit,  and  it  is 
interesting  to  have  even  such  scanty  knowledge  of  the 
author  and  his  life  as  he  has  chosen  to  give  us.  He 
says  that  in  his  youth  he  received  rich  gifts  in  the  hall 
of  his  patron  ;  but  sorrow  and  perhaps  poverty  came 
upon  him,  and  his  heart  was  turned  from  the  frivolities 
of  fashion  and  sport  to  the  religious  life.  Accordingly 
in  his  old  age  he  dedicates  his  poetic  powers  to  the 
composition  of  religious  poetry.  This  is  the  whole 
substance  of  Cynewulf's  autobiography,  but  there  are 
two  other  long  poems  on  sacred  themes  which  give  his 
name  in  the  same  riddling  way,  and  we  therefore  know 
that  they  were  written  by  the  same  man.  As  Cyne- 
wulf   says  in  the  Elenc  that  he  received   gifts   in   his 

1  The  names  of  some  of  the  runes  are  uncertain,  and  consequently 
the  precise  significance  of  parts  of  this  passage  is  disputed.  The  inter- 
pretation here  adopted  is  given  only  for  the  sake  of  illustration. 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  45 

youth,  some  scholars  have  thought  that  he  was  a  min- 
strel, and  that  it  might  be  possible  to  identify  some  of 
the  secular  poems  which  he  wrote  before  his  conversion. 
Their  efforts  have  not  been  attended  by  much  success. 
The  most  important  work  which  has  in  this  way  been 
ascribed  to  Cynewulf's  youth  is  a  collection  of  riddles 
in  the  Exeter  Book,  but  the  evidence  connecting  these 
with  him  seems  very  shadowy  ;  indeed  it  is  probable 
that  the  gifts  which  Cynewulf  says  he  received  were 
given  him  for  his  services  as  a  warrior,  not  as  a  poet. 
There  is  enough,  however,  in  both  quantity  and  merit, 
of  the  unquestionably  genuine  work  of  Cynewulf  to 
assure  him  the  distinction  of  being  the  best  of  the  Old 
English  poets  of  whose  personality  we  have  any  knowl- 
edge. From  linguistic  evidence  it  appears  that  he  lived 
about  the  end  of  the  eighth  century  and  the  beginning  of 
the  ninth,  and  it  is  pretty  clear  that  he  was  an  inhabitant 
of  the  kingdom  of  Mercia.  This  was  the  southernmost 
of  the  two  great  Anglian  kingdoms  in  the  Heptarchy, 
and  it  enjoyed  a  brief  period  of  overlordship  between 
the  supremacy  of  Northumberland  and  that  of  Wessex. 
It  seems,  therefore,  that  in  Mercia,  as  in  Northumber- 
land, political  and  literary  greatness  went  nearly  hand 
in  hand. 

The  religious  fervor  of  Cynewulf's  poetry  is  unques- 
tionable, but  the  inherited  English  love  of  fighting,  either 
with  men  or  with  the  elements,  is  perhaps  more  marked. 
One  of  the  best  passages  in  the  Elene  is  the  account  of 
the  empress's  voyage.  There  the  description  of  the 
swelling  of  the  sails  and  the  buffeting  of  the  waves 
shows  that  Christianized  England  had  not  yet  forgotten 


46  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

its  pagan  instincts.  A  curious  illustration  of  this  is  a 
passage  near  the  beginning  descriptive  of  the  battle. 
Cynevvulf's  model,  a  Latin  version  of  the  story,  barely 
states  the  fact  of  the  victory,  but  the  English  poet's 
expansion  of  the  theme  shows  that  to  him  this  was  the 
most  congenial  of  topics.  Here  is  a  sentence  from  the 
original : 

And  he  fell  upon  the  barbarians  with  his  army,  and  began 
slaughtering  them  at  the  break  of  day  ;  and  the  barbarians 
were  panic-stricken,  and  took  to  flight  along  the  banks  of 
the  Danube,  and  a  considerable  multitude  of  them  died. 

The  following  is  a  free  paraphrase  of  the  corresponding 
passage  in  Cynewulf : 

Trumpets  resounded  before  the  troop. 

The  raven  was  watching  and  waiting  joyfully, 

The  dewy-winged  eagle  saw  from  the  distance, 

And  the  wolf  from  his  haunt  in  the  desolate  wood 

Howled  at  the  terror  of  death  and  hate. 

Arrows  rained  on  them  as  they  rushed  together  ; 

Shields  were  broken,  javelins  shattered. 

And  the  sword  that  swayed  with  the  swinging  arm 

Came  crashing  down  on  the  death-doomed  foe. 

They  pressed  on  resolutely,  pushing  with  effort, 

Thrusting  with  swords  and  swinging  battle-axes. 

And  ever  their  banner  was  borne  forward 

With  shouts  of  triumph  that  were  loud  and  shrill. 

As  the  heathen  fell  joyless  on  that  field. 

Hastily  the  host  of  Huns  fled  away 

When  the  Roman  king,  the  fighter  unconquerable, 

The  fierce  leader,  lifted  the  cross. 

Wide  was  the  ruin  that  was  wrought  on  the  heathen. 

Some  perished  there  in  that  place  of  death, 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  47 

Some  fled  half  alive  to  rocky  fastnesses, 

And  won  their  way  back  to  Danube's  banks  ; 

And  some  found  death  in  the  depths  of  the  lake-stream. 

But  the  proud  victors  chased  the  vanquished 

From  the  day's  dawning  till  night  came  down, 

And  with  ash-darts  and  arrows,  (fierce  battle-adders), 

They  destroyed  the  hateful  host  of  the  enemy. 

22.  Judith.  —  In  the  same  manuscript  which  contains 
Bcozvu/f,  there  is  found  a  fragment,  in  350  lines,  of  a 
poem  based  on  the  apocr^iDhal  Book  of  Judith.  It 
tells,  with  some  departures  from  the  original  narrative, 
how  the  Hebrew  maiden  cut  off  the  head  of  Nebu- 
chadnezzar's general,  Holofernes,  while  he  was  in  a 
drunken  sleep,  and  then  aroused  the  Israelites  to  attack 
and  rout  the  Assyrian  army.  The  religious  spirit  is 
dominant  in  the  piece,  sometimes  running  to  absurdity, 
as  where  the  Jewess  is  made  to  pray  to  the  Saviour  and 
to  the  Holy  Trinity  ;  but  there  is  also  present  a  martial 
spirit  which,  as  in  the  Elene,  reminds  us  quite  as  much 
of  paganism  as  of  Christianity.  The  poet  exults  in  the 
deed  of  Judith  and  in  those  of  her  warrior  compatriots, 
not  merely  with  religious  fer\'or  but  also,  it  seems,  with 
a  half  barbaric  delight  in  battle  for  its  own  sake.  The 
Almighty  is  not  only  God  of  Mercy,  but  also  "  God  of 
Hosts,"  "  Dispenser  of  Glory,"  "  Splendor  of  Kings." 
This  same  mLxed  character,  indeed,  is  found  in  a  great 
deal  of  the  religious  poetry  of  the  early  English.  It 
should  be  remembered  that  even  Bcotviilf,  in  w^hich  the 
paganism  is  almost  undiluted,  was  perhaps  written,  and 
pretty  certainly  rewritten,  long  after  the  monkish  period 
began.     Whatex'er  may  have  been  the  spirit  within  the 


48  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

monastery  walls,  outsiders  were  not  completely  won  over 
to  the  Gospel  of  Peace. 

Inasmuch  as  different  dialects  were  spoken  in  different 
parts  of  England,  and  as  all  the  dialects  were  suffering 
continuous  change  and  development,  it  would  seem  that 
scholars  should  always  be  able  to  tell,  by  linguistic  evi- 
dence, where  and  when  a  particular  book  was  written. 
The  difficulty  of  doing  this,  however,  is  very  great.  In 
the  first  place,  when  a  southern  monk  or  other  scribe 
copied  a  northern  work,  he  would  modify  its  language 
according  to  his  own  standard  of  correctness.  When, 
therefore,  we  ha\'e  an  anonymous  work  existing  in  only 
a  single  manuscript,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  say  in 
what  dialect  it  was  originally  written.  It  w'ill  be  remem- 
bered that  Wessex  was  the  last  of  the  kingdoms  to  be 
supreme  in  the  Heptarchy.  Now  this  supremacy,  as  in 
the  case  of  Northumberland  and  Mercia,  was  in  literature 
and  learning  as  well  as  in  political  power.  Northern 
learning  disappeared  before  the  encroachments  of  the 
Danes,  and  we  have  very  little  left  of  the  northern  liter- 
ature except  wdiat  the  literary  men  of  the  later  period 
saw  fit  to  copy  and  preserve.  Consequently  the  great 
bulk  of  Old  English  literature,  whatever  its  original  form, 
is  preserved  to  us  only  in  the  West  Saxon  dress. 

The  date  and  origin  of  thQ  Judith  are  utterly  unknown. 
One  of  the  most  eminent  of  Old  English  scholars  thinks 
it  was  by  a  Northumbrian  poet  of  about  Bede's  time  ; 
another  thinks  it  was  written  more  than  a  century  later 
in  Wessex.  The  latter  h)T30thesis  is  supported  by  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  Judith  who  was  the  consort  of  a 
West    Saxon   king,  rElfrcd  the  Great's  father.      It  is  a 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITERATURE  49 

plausible  conjecture  that  the  poem  is  a  tribute  to  her, 
and  that  its  jubilant  account  of  the  rout  of  the  Assyrians 
is  an  indirect  celebration  of  some  great  victory  over  the 
Danes.  This  conjecture,  however,  seems  incapable  of 
proof. 

23.  .ffilfred  and  the  Later  Literature.  —  The  title  "  Father 
of  English  prose"  is  more  justly  given  to  King  yElfred 
than  to  Bede.  Bede's  translation  of  St.  John  is  lost, 
while  voluminous  works  of  yElfred  are  still  extant.  In 
his  literary  work,  as  well  as  in  his  political  and  military 
rule,  /Elfred  justifies  the  name  of  "the  Great."  Not 
that  he  was  in  the  ordinary  sense  a  great  writer  ;  but  we 
find  that  with  a  wisdom  beyond  his  generation  he  labored 
for  the  education  and  moral  guidance  of  his  subjects,  as 
well  as  for  their  material  prosperity.  One  of  the  evils  of 
the  monastic  system  was  that  it  tended  to  confine  litera- 
ture to  the  Latin  language,  and  so,  while  advancing  the 
cause  of  learning,  did  little  to  extend  it  outside  of  a  select 
circle.  .'Elfred  was  in  full  sympathy  with  the  highest 
interests  of  the  monks,  and  gave  them  valuable  assistance 
and  protection  ;  but  he  also  earnestly  desired  that  the 
best  thought  of  the  time  should  be  brought  within  reach 
of  the  unlearned.  To  this  end  he  translated  into  English 
several  standard  works  on  history,  science,  and  philoso- 
phy ;  and  he  saw  to  it  that  other  work  of  the  sort  was 
done  by  other  hands. 

Among  the  works  translated  by  Alfred  were  the 
Historia  advcrsus  Paganos  of  Orosius,  a  Spaniard  ;  the 
Historia  Ecclesiastica  of  Bede,  the  Englishman  ;  and 
the  De  Consolationc  PldlosopJiiae  of  Boethius,  a  Roman. 
The  last-named  is  the  most  celebrated  of  the  books  that 


50  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

yElfred  translated.  The  original  was  written  in  the  sLxth 
century  by  one  who  is  sometimes  called  "  the  last  of 
the  Romans."  The  book  was  the  last  important  work 
of  genius  ])ro(luced  by  pagan  Rome.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  written  in  prison,  where  Boethius  was  confined  on 
account  of  political  animosities.  It  is  as  purely  pagan  a 
work  as  the  Dc  Senectute ;  though  in  another  and  looser 
sense  it  may  be  called,  like  Cicero's  treatise,  fairly  Chris- 
tian in  spirit.  Its  posthumous  history  was  remarkable, 
for  throughout  the  middle  ages  it  was  regarded  as  a 
manual  of  religious  philosophy,  and  its  author  was 
supposed  to  have  been  a  devout  Christian.  It  was 
frequently  translated,  and  was  in  high  repute  as  late 
as  the  seventeenth  century. 

.^Elfred's  labors  were  a  lasting  benefit  to  England. 
The  most  prosperous  period  of  Old  English  history  was 
in  the  century  following  his  death,  and  the  literature 
of  that  period  is  abundant.  The  literary  traditions  of 
Wessex,  dating  from  yElfred's  time,  survived  till  the 
Norman  Conquest,  though  sometimes  interrupted  by  the 
later  Danish  wars.  The  literature  of  this  period  was 
mostly  of  a  religious  tenor,  and  it  indicates  that  England 
under  the  West  Saxon  kings  was  a  civilized  country  in 
which  the  best  men's  standards  of  morality  were  like 
our  own.  Their  literary  art  seems  of  an  inferior  order 
when  we  compare  it  with  the  best  product  of  modern 
times  ;  but  indeed  literary  art  was  not  what  they  were 
seeking  especially  to  cultivate.  Sermons  were  written, 
and  lives  of  saints,  and  school  books,  and  (most  impor- 
tant of  all)  the  English  Chronicle,  a  record  of  contempo- 
rary events,  begun  before  /Elfred's  reign  and  continued 


OLD    ENGLISH    LITKRATUKK  51 

from  time  to  time  by  a  long  series  of  writers  down  to  the 
year  1154.  Some  parts  of  this  work  are  very  prosy 
annals,  but  others  are  real  literature,  and  occasionally 
the  an()n)m()us  chronicler  breaks  into  verse.  One  pas- 
sage of  poetry  celebrating  the  victory  at  Brunanburh 
in  937  has  all  the  spirit  and  fire  of  the  Viking  days. 
Tennyson  was  sufficiently  interested  to  translate  it,  and 
the  merits  of  his  Battle  of  Bninanburh  are  substantially 
those  of  the  original. 

The  English  Clironiclc  nearly  bridges  the  gap  between 
the  Old  and  the  Middle  English  literatures.  The  most 
barren  period  in  our  whole  literary  history  was  the  cen- 
tury and  a  half  following  the  Norman  Conquest.  Most 
of  the  high  places  in  both  church  and  state  were  occupied 
by  Normans.  The  common  monk  and  the  parish  priest 
were  perhaps  English,  but  their  abbot  and  bishop  spoke 
French.  There  are  shocking  stories  in  the  Chronicle  of 
the  oppression  of  the  subject  race  —  stories  of  torture, 
starvation,  robbery,  and  enslavement.  The  history  of  the 
English  during  this  period  was  of  course  not  wholly  one 
of  misery,  but  there  was  enough  of  it  in  their  lot  to 
prevent  the  growth  of  anything  that  can  fairly  be  called 
literature.  Whatever  was  written  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  ruling  classes  was  written  in  French,  and  some  of 
the  best  French  literature  of  the  twelfth  century  was 
produced  on  English  soil.  Treatises  addressed  primarih' 
to  the  learned  were  written  in  Latin.  Those  who  wrote 
English  did  so  either  because  they  could  write  nothing 
else,  or  because  those  whom  they  wished  to  reach  could 
read  nothing  else  ;  and  nearly  all  that  has  come  down  to 
us  from  this  period  is  of  a  religious  and  didactic  character. 


52  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Doubtless  there  were  other  kinds  of  work  done.  The 
wandering  minstrel  continued  to  go  his  rounds,  and  a 
great  deal  of  secular  poetry  may  have  been  composed  by 
him,  if  not  by  others  also  ;  but  this  kind  of  verse  had  little 
chance  of  preservation.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  likely 
not  to  be  written  down  at  all,  for  there  was  little  advan- 
tage in  writing  it ;  and  in  the  second  place,  while  the 
monasteries  were  not  the  only  places  where  poetry  was 
composed,  they  were  the  places  where  manuscripts  were 
most  likely  to  be  cared  for.  Whatever  the  inmates  of  a 
monastery  or  other  clerical  institution  thought  fit  to  copy 
and  keep  in  their  library  had  a  slight  chance  of  sur\'iving 
the  middle  ages  ;  other  things  had  in  general  no  chance 
at  all.  Furthermore,  we  know  of  instances  of  the  wan- 
ton destruction  of  Old  English  manuscripts  by  Norman 
monks.  They  could  not  read  them,  and  by  erasing  the 
words  they  could  make  the  parchments  available  for 
their  o^^Tl  use.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  our  knowledge 
of  the  Old  English  literature  in  general  must  be  very 
defective  ;  but  that  we  know  even  less  of  the  secular 
literature  than  of  the  relisiious. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   ROMANCES   OF   CHIVALRY 

24.  Asceticism.  —  The  period  of  mediaeval  romance  ex- 
tends from  the  eleventh  well  into  the  fifteenth  century, 
but  romances  written  in  the  latter  part  of  this  period 
were  mere  survivals  of  an  almost  extinct  fashion.  It 
will  be  most  convenient,  therefore,  to  consider  this  whole 
.species  of  literature  in  a  single  chapter,  and  to  return 
afterwards  to  the  strict  chronological  order  of  our  history. 
As,  however,  the  romance  of  chivalry  was  the  product 
of  a  peculiar  state  of  society,  it  will  be  necessary  to  con- 
sider incidentally  some  aspects  of  mediaeval  life  ;  and  the 
ascetic  element  in  mediaeval  religion  may  conveniently 
be  considered  in  advance. 

Self-denial  was  the  first  rule  of  the  monastic  orders, 
and  a  prominent  feature  of  mediaeval  religious  observance 
in  general.  Asceticism  was,  however,  by  no  means  a 
peculiarly  mediaeval  institution.  Sects  of  heathen  philos- 
ophers, many  centuries  before  the  time  of  Christ,  had 
advocated  various  forms  of  self-denial,  such  as  celibacy, 
total  abstinence,  etc.  ;  and  the  same  sort  of  teaching  is 
found  in  some  of  the  later  Jewish  scriptures.  There  was 
in  general,  however,  this  difference  between  the  pagan 
and  the  Christian  ascetics  ;  that  the  former  advocated 
self-denial  for  ethical,  the  latter  for  religious,  purposes. 
The  Greek  j^hilosophers  thought  that  by  thwarting  the 

53 


54  EARLY  en(;lisii  literature 

natural  promptings  of  the  flesh  they  could  attain  to  per- 
fect virtue  ;  the  recluse  of  the  monastic  period  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  the  voices  of  the  flesh  and  the  world  in  order 
to  hear  more  distinctly  the  voice  of  God  speaking  within 
his  own  soul.  Many  a  holy  man,  after  wasting  his  body 
with  fasting  and  pain,  had  half-feverish  visions  of  the 
other  world,  and  felt  himself  inspired  to  utter  prophecies 
and  to  perform  miracles.  Many  of  the  saints  of  the 
church  had  experiences  of  this  sort,  and  their  lives  swell 
the  literature  of  the  middle  ages. 

An  excellent  illustration  of  mediaeval  asceticism  is 
found  in  the  legendary  Life  of  St.  Alexis.  This  work 
must  have  been  very  popular  throughout  the  later  middle 
ages,  for  it  is  still  e.xtant  in  several  languages,  and  in 
versions  dating  from  the  eleventh  century  on.  One 
manuscript  gives  the  stor}'  (in  foiu'teenth-century  Eng- 
lish) substantially  as  follows  : 

Sit  still  and  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  a  holy  man : 
Alexis  was  his  name.  His  father  was  Eufemian,  a  great 
and  good  lord  in  Rome.  This  lord  and  his  pious  wife  used 
to  give  generously  to  the  poor,  never  sitting  down  to  their 
own  food  till  all  who  came  to  their  door  for  charity  had 
first  been  satisfied.  For  a  long  time  this  pair  were  child- 
less, but  at  length  a  son,  Alexis,  was  sent  them  in  response 
to  their  prayers.  He  grew  up  holy  and  wdse,  and  dear  to 
all  hearts.  His  parents  arranged  a  most  advantageous 
marriage  for  him,  but  Alexis  was  so  wholly  given  to  reli- 
gion that  he  regarded  the  happiness  of  wedded  life  with 
horror.  Immediately  after  the  ceremony,  therefore,  he  fled 
from  home  alone,  without  giving  any  intimation  as  to  where 
he  was  going.  Coming  at  length  to  a  city  in  Syria,  he 
gave  away  all  his  money  and  the  best  of  his  attire,  and  sat 


THK    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY  55 

down  at  a  church  door  in  common  beggar's  garb,  resolved 
to  live  on  the  alms  of  casual  givers.  Every  one  supposed 
him  to  be  an  ordinary  mendicant. 

Meantime  the  parents  and  the  wife  of  Alexis  were  in  the 
depths  of  grief.  His  mother  said  "Alas,  alas!",  and  his 
wife  made  moan  like  a  dove  that  has  lost  her  mate.  They 
sent  messengers  to  all  parts  of  the  world  to  find  him,  and 
it  chanced  that  some  of  these  messengers  came  to  the  very 
place  where  he  was.  They  saw  him  sitting  in  the  poor 
men's  row,  but  as  they  could  not  recognize  him  they  gave 
him  alms  and  passed  by.  He  thanked  God  that  it  was 
permitted  him  to  receive  charity  from  those  who  had  once 
been  his  inferiors,  but  he  did  not  betray  himself  to  them  ; 
and  so  they  returned  to  the  bereaved  family  and  reported 
that  Alexis  could  not  be  found.  He,  meanwhile,  remained 
at  his  post  by  the  church  door  in  the  Syrian  city,  humbly 
rejoicing  in  his  own  sufferings. 

After  this  manner  of  life  had  continued  for  seventeen 
years,  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  which  stood  inside  the 
church,  spoke  to  the  church-warden  and  commanded  him 
to  bring  inside  the  holy  man  who  had  sat  so  long  at  the  door. 
Alexis  accordingly  was  brought  to  live  inside  the  edifice, 
and  great  honor  was  shown  him  because  of  his  long  life  of 
poverty.  His  holy  nature,  however,  would  not  permit  him 
to  be  the  recipient  of  such  attentions  (even  at  the  miracu- 
lous bidding  of  the  sacred  image),  so  he  fled  again  in  search 
of  a  land  where  he  might  pursue  his  course  of  religious 
mendicancy  unnoticed.  Taking  ship,  he  was  driven  by 
adverse  winds  to  Rome,  his  old  home.  Recognizing  that 
it  was  the  will  of  God  that  had  brought  him  hither,  he 
resolved  to  go  to  his  father's  house  ;  but  he  presented  him- 
self there  not  as  the  returned  son,  but  still  in  the  character 
of  a  poor  beggar.  His  father  received  him,  without  recog- 
nizing him,  and  gave  him  a  place  among  the  recipients  of 
his  bounty;  and  there  Alexis  passed  another  seventeen 
years. 


56  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Nou  Alex,  as  ^e '  habbe)>-  i-herd, 
is  dweld  in  his  fader  ^erd 

as  a  pore  man. 
In  preyere  of  fasting  c^  waking, 
he  seruede  lesu,  heuene  kyng, 

in  al  J'at  he  can. 
Seruant^  pat  were  proute  tS:  ;ungge 
him  dryuen  ofte  to  he)'ingge  ^ 

as  he  ^ede  *  vp  &  doun  ; 
&  ofte-sithes  ^  bro])  of  ffisches, 
&  water  as  he  ^  wessch  here  dissches, 

)'ei  caste  vpon  his  croun. 
Of  al  ]'e  schame  pat  pei  him  wrou:5the 
he  ponkede  lesu,  pat  him  bouthe," 

&  ^af  *  him  my^tte  perto  ; 
he  was  polemod^  in  alle  ]>inge, 
per-out  ne  my^tte  no  man  him  bringe, 

fif or  nowth  ^^  pei  couden  do. 

When  Alexis  felt  that  death  was  near,  he  wrote  a  full 
account  of  his  life,  and  then  died  in  his  humble  cot,  with 
his  manuscript  clasped  in  his  hand.  A  voice  from  heaven 
bade  the  people  seek  the  holy  man  in  Eufemian's  house, 
and  the  Emperor,  the  Pope,  and  a  great  crowd  of  others 
came  to  the  place  where  Alexis  lay  dead.  Several  persons 
tried  to  take  the  manuscript,  but  the  dead  hand  would  not 
let  go  till  the  Pope  himself  made  the  attempt.     Then  it 

^  The  character  3  has  three  uses.  At  the  beginning  of  a  word  it 
represents  the  sound  of  consonantal  y,  in  the  middle  of  a  word  that  of 
a  strongly  aspirated  /i,  or  ^^/i,  and  at  the  end  that  of  s  or  c.  Thus  56  is 
equivalent  to  ye,  wrou^the  to  wrought,  and  seruant?  to  servants.  The 
initial  3  is  really  a  softened  g.  The  Old  English  form  for  36  was  ge  ; 
for  3ede,  ge-eode,  etc. 

-  The  character  p  represents  the  sound  of  ///,  and  is  used  in  some 
manuscripts  interchangeably  with  ^. 

3  mockery.  *  went.  °  oftentimes.  ^  they.  "  bought. 

*  gave.  ^  meek.  ^^'  aught. 


THE    ROMANCES    UK   CHIVALRY  57 

readily  relinquished  it.  The  beggar's  identity  was  estab- 
lished. The  parents  and  the  widow  (faithful  for  thirty-four 
years)  made  bitter  lamentation,  but  all  marveled  at  the 
extraordinary  holiness  of  the  deceased.  Whoever  touched 
the  body,  whether  sick,  halt,  or  blind,  was  straightway  made 
whole.  A  tomb  of  gold  and  precious  stones  was  reared, 
and  pilgrims  thronged  to  the  place  forever  after,  for  the 
sake  of  the  miraculous  cures  wrought  there. 

To  a  certain  extent  the  ascetic  mind  found  compensa- 
tion for  its  renunciation  of  earthly  pleasures  in  a  pecu- 
liarly impassioned  religious  mysticism.  The  anchoress, 
in  her  solitary  cell,  had  visions  of  the  heavenly  Bride- 
groom, whose  spiritual  visitations  instilled  in  her  soul  a 
love  deeper  than  that  of  the  flesh,  which  she  had  abjured. 
The  monk,  in  addressing  hymns  of  fervent  adoration  to 
the  Virgin,  appeased  a  craving  for  which  the  worship  of 
the  Holy  Trinity  could  not  suffice. 

O  quam  sancta,  quam  serena, 
quam  benigna,  quam  amoena, 

esse  virgo  creditur: 
per  quam  servitus  finitur, 
porta  coeli  aperitur, 

et  libertas  redditur. 

Scores  of  hymns  of  this  character  have  come  down  to 
us  from  the  middle  ages.  Many  of  them  are  mere  exer- 
cises in  ingenious  phrase-turning,  but  some  show  real 
warmth  of  feeling ;  and  wherever  this  is  present,  it  may 
fairly  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  by-product  of  asceticism. 
25.  Geoffrey  and  the  French  Romances.  —  In  the  early 
part  of  the  twelfth  century  long  narrative  poems  were 
very  common  in  French  literature.     They  told  of  the 


58  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITE1'L\TURE 

chivalrous  deeds  of  brave  knights,  and  their  heroes  were 
usually  borrowed  from  legends  either  of  the  Trojan  war, 
or  of  the  wars  of  Alexander  the  Great,  or  of  the  court  of 
Charlemagne.  It  was  the  development  of  the  feudal 
system  that  first  made  these  romances  the  fashion. 
Under  the  centrifugal  operation  of  this  system,  already 
described,  there  came  into  being  in  France  a  large  class 
of  wealthy  and  powerful  barons  who,  with  their  vassal 
knights,  lived  in  comparative  isolation  and  independence. 
The  romances  of  chivalry  presented  a  poetic  and  highly 
idealized  picture  of  the  kind  of  life  that  these  men  led. 
Hector,  Alexander,  Charlemagne,  and  their  friends  and 
their  foes,  were  represented  as  knights  of  the  era  of 
feudalism,  performing  impossible  tasks  with  superhuman 
valor. 

About  the  year  1140  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  wrote  in 
Latin  his  celebrated  History  of  the  Britons  {Historia 
Britoimvi).  This  was  an  almost  wholly  m)1:hical  account 
of  the  early  Celtic  inhabitants  of  Britain.  It  began  with 
Brut,  a  great-grandson  of  /Eneas,  the  supposed  founder 
of  the  supposed  British  kingdom,  and  ran  through  the 
almost  interminable  line  of  his  fabulous  descendants. 
Among  these  were  many  who  have  since  become  well 
knowii  to  literature,  such  as  Cymbeline  and  Lear  ;  but 
the  greatest  figure  of  all  was  King  Arthur.  The  pre- 
cise sources  from  which  Geoffrey  drew  his  stories  of 
Arthur  are  still  partly  in  dispute,  but  he  must  have  been 
partly  indebted  to  traditions  picked  up  among  his  Welsh 
neighbors.  They  .still  cherished  the  memory  of  the  great 
sixth-century  hero. 

As  soon  as  Geoffrey's  book  was  known,  Arthur  became 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY  59 

the  favorite  hero  not  of  the  Welsh  only,  nor  indeed  of  the 
Celts,  but  of  all  literary  Europe.  His  character,  as  the 
Celtic  imagination  had  devised  it,  was  in  some  respects 
better  suited  to  the  romancer's  needs  than  any  of  the 
heroes  already  familiar  ;  and  the  latter,  moreover,  were 
getting  worn  out.  So  it  came  about  that  romances  in 
prose  and  verse,  celebrating  the  deeds  of  Arthur  and  his 
mythical  knights,  were  composed  without  number.  The 
first  work  was  done  in  French,  and  therefore  in  one 
sense  does  not  belong  to  the  history  of  our  literature  ; 
but  the  later  English  romances  were  imitations  of  the 
French,  and  the  joint  history  of  romance  in  the  two 
languages  is  best  regarded  as  one  subject. 

The  most  illustrious  of  the  French  Arthurian  poets 
was  Chrestien  of  Troyes.  One  of  his  romances,  the 
Coiite  de  la  CJiarrette  (Tale  of  the  Car),  written  about 
1 170,  demands  attention  as  the  first  example  of  a  pecu- 
liar sort  of  love  story  which  afterwards  became  very 
common.     The  essentials  of  the  tale  are  as  follows  : 

Guinevere,  King  Arthur's  queen,  was  taken  captive  by 
the  fierce  Meliagraunce,  a  treacherous  knight  who  lived  in 
a  distant  castle.  Lancelot,  who  was  the  king's  most  gal- 
lant knight,  but  also  secretly  the  lover  of  his  queen,  rode 
furiously  in  pursuit.  Losing  his  horse,  he  was  offered  a 
car  to  ride  in ;  but  the  car  was  of  the  kind  used  for  the 
meanest  of  criminals  —  a  sort  of  movable  stocks.  Lance- 
lot hesitated  for  just  one  second,  but  then  accepted  the 
conveyance.  After  a  series  of  extraordinary  adventures  he 
reached  the  castle  and  fought  with  Meliagraunce.  Lance- 
lot was  getting  the  worst  of  the  combat,  owing  to  fatigue 
and  wounds  previously  received,  when  a  maiden  called  his 
attention  to  Guinevere  in  a  window,  hoping  thus  to  cheer 


6o  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

him  to  renewed  effort.  The  effect  was  not  what  she  ex- 
pected, for  Lancelot  was  unable  to  keep  his  eyes  on  his 
enemy,  and  so  struck  wildly ;  but  the  maiden  told  him  to 
stand  with  Meliagraunce  between  himself  and  the  window, 
so  that  he  might  watch  him  and  Guinevere  at  the  same 
time,  and  by  this  device  he  was  able  to  w'in  the  victory. 
After  the  combat  he  found  Guinevere  in  the  castle,  but  she 
turned  her  back  abruptly  and  left  the  room.  Lancelot 
languished  in  despair,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  his  lady's 
displeasure,  but  knowing  that  he  must  have  been  guilty  of 
some  heinous  fault.  A  report  spread  that  he  had  died,  and 
Guinevere  gave  herself  up  to  secret  sorrow,  resolving  to 
starve  to  death.  Lancelot  appeared  again,  and  Guinevere 
this  time  deigned  to  explain  her  ill-treatment  of  him.  She 
had  heard  that  when  the  car  was  offered  to  him  he  had 
hesitated  for  a  second,  weighing  the  indignity  for  that 
length  of  time  against  the  pain  of  losing  her.  Lancelot 
most  humbly  admitted  the  grievousness  of  his  fault,  and 
prayed  for  forgiveness,  which  the  queen  was  graciously 
pleased  to  grant. 

This  story  is  in  many  ways  a  typical  illustration  of  the 
romance  of  chivalry,  and  the  sentiments  implied  in  it 
should  be  carefully  noted.  In  the  first  place,  love,  which 
offers  the  central  interest  in  poems  of  this  class,  is  of  the 
furtive,  forbidden  sort.  The  love  of  husband  and- wife, 
or  even  of  persons  who  might  just  as  well  become  hus- 
band and  wife,  was  no  theme  for  a  poet  of  this  school. 
Such  love  was  not  love  at  all,  as  he  understood  it.  True 
love  requires  that  the  lover  should  be  always  in  doubt  of 
his  success,  or  in  fear  of  his  lady's  withdrawal  of  favor  ; 
and  calm  marital  possession  would  of  course  make  this 
impossible.  The  lover  must  always  be  in  a  trembling, 
timorous  attitude  before    his    lady ;   he  is  literally  her 


THE    ROMANCES    OE    CHIVALRY  6 1 

servant,  as  he  is  often  called,  and  she  is  all  whim  and 
caprice.  In  addition  to  the  love  story,  these  romances 
of  course  abound  in  exciting  adventures,  but  the  lover's 
gallant  deeds  are  all  for  love.  His  heart  is  set  on  prov- 
ing by  his  prowess  that  he  is  worthy  of  love's  rewards. 
The  very  word  '*  gallantry  "  shows  how  inextricably  blent 
were  the  ideas  of  love  and  valor  ;  for  the  two  senses 
which  it  now  bears  were  in  the  middle  ages  felt  as  one. 

26.  The  Holy  GraU.  —  Not  long  after  Chrestien  had 
elaborated  his  extraordinary  tissue  of  fancy,  some  of  his 
younger  contemporaries  ^  took  up  the  Arthurian  legend 
and  gave  it  a  very  different  turn.  Who  they  were  it  is 
impossible  to  say,  for  as  to  the  authorship  of  many  of 
these  romances  evidence  is  either  conflicting  or  wholly 
wanting.  The  change  wrought  in  the  spirit  of  the  Arthur 
legend  was  the  introduction  of  a  moral  element,  and  this 
was  done  by  the  invention  of  a  new  episode,  the  Quest 
of  the  Holy  Grail.  The  Grail,  or  Graal,  was  the  vessel 
from  which  Christ  drank  at  the  Last  Supper,  and  in 
which  Joseph  of  Arimathea  received  some  of  the  sacred 
blood  at  the  crucifixion.  Joseph  brought  it  with  him, 
according  to  an  old  church  legend,  to  Britain,  and  there 
it  was  kept  for  a  long  time  ;  but  it  was  finally  lost,  and 
none  had  been  able  to  find  it.  Now  it  occurred  to  some 
of  the  early  romancers  that  this  legend  might  well  be 
connected  with  the  court  of  King  Arthur,  and  this  was 
done  by  representing  the  knights  of  his  celebrated  Round 
Table  as  uniting  in  a  vow  to  search  for  the  Grail  until 
it  should  be  found  again.     The  following  extracts  from 

1  The  innovation  is  often  credited  to  Walter  Map,  who  was  a  few 
years  older  than  Chrestien. 


62  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Malory's  fifteenth-century  version  of  the  story  will  illus- 
trate the  trend  of  the  new  idea.  His  account  is  based 
upon  the  earlier  French  romances,  and  is  better  than  any 
literal  translation  could  be. 

And  thenne  the  kynge  and  al  estates  wente  home  unto 
Camelot,  and  soo  wente  to  evensonge  to  the  grete  mynster  ; 
and  soo  after  upon  that  to  souper,  and  every  knyght  sette 
in  his  owne  place  as  they  were  to  fore  hand.  Thenne 
anone  they  herd  crakynge  and  cryenge  of  thonder  that  hem 
thought  the  place  shold  alle  to  dryve.  In  the  myddes  of 
this  blast  entred  a  sonne  beaume  more  clerer  by  seven 
tymes  than  ever  they  sawe  daye,  and  al  they  were  alyghted 
of  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghoost.  Thenne  beganne  every 
knyghte  to  behold  other,  and  eyther  saw-e  other  by  theire 
semynge  fayrer  than  ever  they  sawe  afore.  Not  for  thenne 
there  was  no  knyght  myghte  speke  one  word  a  grete  whyle, 
and  soo  they  loked  every  man  on  other,  as  they  had  ben 
dome.  Thenne  ther  entred  in  to  the  halle  the  Holy  Grade 
coverd  with  whyte  samyte,  but  ther  was  none  myghte  see 
hit,  nor  who  bare  hit.  And  there  was  al  the  halle  ful- 
fylled  with  good  odoures,  and  every  knyght  had  suche 
metes  and  drynkes  as  he  best  loved  in  this  world.  And 
whan  the  Holy  Grayle  had  be  borne  thurgh  the  halle, 
thenne  the  holy  vessel  departed  sodenly,  that  they  wyste 
not  where  hit  becam.  Thenne  had  they  alle  brethe  to 
speke ;  and  thenne  the  kynge  yelded  thankynges  to  God  of 
his  good  grace  that  he  had  sente  them.  "  Certes,"  said  the 
kynge,  "we  oughte  to  thanke  oure  Lord  Jhesu  gretely  for 
that  he  hath  shewed  us  this  daye  atte  reverence  of  this 
hyhe  feest  of  Pentecost."  "Now,"  said  Sir  Gawayn,  "we 
have  ben  served  this  daye  of  what  metes  and  drynkes  we 
thoughte  on,  but  one  thynge  begyled  us ;  we  myght  not 
see  the  Holy  Grayle,  it  was  soo  precyously  coverd  :  wher- 
for  I  wil  make  here  avowe,  that  to  mornc,  withoute  lenger 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    ClIIVAERY  63 

abydyng,  I  shall  laboure  in  the  quest  of  the  Sancgreal ; 
that  1  shalle  hold  me  oute  a  twelve  moneth  and  a  day  or 
more  yf  nede  be,  and  never  shalle  I  retorne  ageyne  unto 
the  courte  tyl  I  have  sene  hit  more  openly  than  hit  hath 
ben  sene  here.  And  yf  I  may  not  spede,  I  shall  retorne 
ageyne  as  he  that  maye  not  be  ageynst  the  wil  of  our  Lord 
Jhesu  Cryste."  Whan  they  of  the  Table  Round  herde  Syr 
Gawayne  saye  so,  they  arose  up  the  most  party  and  maade 
suche  avowes  as  Sire  Gawayne  had  made. 

Some  of  the  knights  "succeeded  in  the  quest,  and  some 
failed,  each  faring  according  to  liis  deserts  ;  but  Lance- 
lot, the  brave  knight,  false  friend,  and  faithful  lover,  both 
succeeded  and  failed.  Coming  to  a  strange  castle  he 
heard  a  voice  telling  him  to  enter,  and  he  shoukl  see  a 
great  part  of  his  desire  ;  so  he  entered  and  found  within 
a  chamber  whereof  the  door  was  shut  and  locked. 

Thenne  he  lystned,  and  herd  a  voyce  whiche  sange  so 
swetely  that  it  semed  none  erthely  thynge ;  and  hym 
thoughte  the  voyce  said,  "  Joye  and  honour  be  to  the 
Fader  of  Heven."  Thenne  Lancelot  kneled  doun  to  fore 
the  chamber,  for  wel  wyst  he  that  there  was  the  Sancgreal 
within  that  chamber.  Thenne  sayd  he,  "  Fair  swete  Fader 
Jhesu  Cryst,  yf  ever  I  dyd  thyng  that  pleasyd  the  Lord, 
for  thy  pyte  ne  have  me  not  in  despyte  for  my  synnes  done 
afore  tyme,  and  that  thou  shewe  me  some  thynge  of  that  I 
seke."  And  with  that  he  sawe  the  chamber  dore  open, 
and  there  came  oute  a  grete  clerenes,  that  the  hows  was  as 
bryghte  as  all  the  torches  of  the  world  had  ben  there.  So 
cam  he  to  the  chamber  dore,  and  wold  have  entryd.  And 
anone  a  voyce  said  to  hym,  "  Flee,  Launcelot,  andentre  not, 
for  thou  oughtest  not  to  doo  hit ;  and  yf  thou  entre  thou 
shalt  forthynke  hit."  Thenne  he  withdrewe  hym  abak 
ryght  hevy.     Thenne  loked  he  up  in  the  myddes   of  the 


64  EARLY    ENGLTSTT    LITERATURE 

chamber,  and  sawe  a  table  of  sylver,  and  the  holy  vessel 
coverd  with  reed  samyte,  and  many  angels  aboute  hit, 
wherof  one  helde  a  candel  of  waxe  brennyng,  and  the  other 
held  a  crosse  and  the  ornementys  of  an  aulter.  .  .  .  Ryghte 
soo  entryd  he  in  to  the  chamber,  and  cam  toward  the  table 
of  sylver,  and  whanne  he  came  nyghe  he  felte  a  brethe  that 
hym  thoughte  hit  was  entremedled  with  fyre,  whiche  smote 
hym  so  sore  in  the  vysage  that  hym  thoughte  it  brente  his 
vysage  ;  and  there  with  he  felle  to  the  erthe,  and  had  no 
power  to  aryse,  as  he  that  was  so,o  araged  that  had  loste 
the  power  of  his  body,  and  his  herynge,  and  his  seynge. 
Thenne  felte  he  many  handes  aboute  him,  whiche  tooke 
hym  up  and  bare  hym  oute  of  the  chamber  dore,  withoute 
ony  amendynge  of  his  swoune,  and  lefte  hym  there  semyng 
dede  to  al  peple. 

From  the  two  kinds  of  specimens  which  have  been 
given,  it  is  clear  that  the  nature  of  the  mediaeval  romance 
was  very  complex.  It  cannot  be  described  in  a  single 
phrase.  We  sometimes  think  of  "  the  age  of  chivalry  " 
as  a  time  when  the  weaker  sex  was  especially  revered  by 
the  stronger,  and  pure  love  was  the  chief  incentive  of 
noble  ambition  ;  but  such  romances  as  the  Contc  de  la 
CJiarrette  reveal  a  notion  of  love  not  merely  artificial  to 
the  verge  of  absurdity,  but  at  bottom  profoundly  immoral. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  will  not  do  to  dismiss  the  whc^lc 
romantic  idea  (as  some  are  tempted  to  do)  as  a  high- 
fantastical  fabrication,  having  no  relation  to  the  soberer 
feelings  of  the  time.  Such  a  conception  seems  to  melt 
away  as  the  Grail  romances  arc  studied.  The  fact  is 
that  the  mediaeval  romances  were  written  by  many 
different  men,  and  though  they  are  much  alike  in  some 
of  their  romantic  peculiarities,  they  exhibit  very  different 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY  65 

attitudes  toward  life.  The  artificial  fashion  of  chivalrous 
love  was  introduced  by  men  whose  immediate  ambition 
was  to  be  read  by  "  society."  Now  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, society,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  was  just  beginning 
to  exist.  The  ladies  of  the  courts  of  Europe,  disciples 
of  Queen  Eleanor  or  the  Countess  Marie  of  Champagne, 
were  willing  enou£i^h  to  be  flattered,  and  a  good  way  for 
Chrestien  of  Troycs  to  flatter  them  was  by  inventing  a 
world  of  fiction  in  which  the  most  valiant  knights  were 
as  slaves  at  the  feet  of  capricious  ladies  ;  but  neither  the 
poet's  own  instincts  nor  the  tastes  of  his  fair  readers 
made  it  necessary  that  he  should  import  into  his  poem  a 
morality  more  rigid  than  that  of  real  life.  On  the  other 
hand,  some  of  the  romances  were  written  by  men  of 
genuine  religious  feeling.  They  were  probably  men  who 
belonged  to  the  secular  world,  yet  the  ideals  of  the  cloister 
had  made  a  profound  impression  on  them.  Such  a  char- 
acter as  St.  Alexis,  for  example,  might  seem  to  them  by 
no  means  exemplary,  yet  they  would  find  in  him  some- 
thing that  they  could  not  but  venerate.  When  they 
invented  the  character  of  Sir  Galahad,  the  virgin  knight 
whose  heart  was  as  pure  as  his  arm  was  strong,  and  who 
alone  succeeded  in  a  perfect  achievement  of  the  quest, 
they  were  effecting  a  compromise  between  the  ascetic 
ideal  of  the  church  and  the  common-sense  ideal  of  the 
average  sturdy  layman  ;  and,  moreover,  they  were  losing 
none  of  the  literary  possibilities  of  chivalry.  Their  work 
does  in  fact  present  to  us,  in  poetical  form,  the  highest 
ideal  of  some  of  the  most  serious  men  of  the  middle  ages. 
27.  Layamon  and  the  English  Romances.  —  One  of  the 
French  books  based  on  Geoffrey's  History  was  Wace's 


66 


EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


Brut,  a  versified  narrative  of  the  same  series  of  events. 
It  was  perhaps  more  from  this  than  from  the  Historia 
Britonuvi  itself  that  the  succeeding  romancers  learned 
what  Geoffrey  had  to  tell  them  ;  but  they  doubtless  had 
divers  other  authorities  also,  whom  it  is  impossible  now 
to  identify.  Wace's  poem,  of  course,  owed  its  name  to 
the  mythical  ancestor  of  the  British  kings. 

About  the  year  1205  an  English  Brut  was  written. 
This  was  the  work  of  Layamon,  a  parish  priest  of  Ernley 
in  Worcestershire.  The  opening  lines  give  us  the  best 
information  we  have  about  him.  Their  metre  should  be 
noted.  It  is  a  relic  of  the  Old  English  verse,  each  half- 
line  (or  each  line,  as  here  printed)  containing  two  princi- 
pal accents,  and  being  more  or  less  closely  connected 
with  its  fellow.  The  poet,  however,  often  omitted  the 
alliteration  ;  and  the  scribe,  who  attempted  by  marks  of 
punctuation  to  show  which  half-lines  belonged  together, 
seems  in  consequence  to  have  sometimes  lost  his  way.^ 


An  preost  wes  on  leoden : 
layamon  wes  ihoten. 
he  wes  leouenaSes  sone  : 
litSe  him  beo  drihten. 
5  he  vvonede  at  ernleje  : 
at  ae'Selen  are  chirechen. 
vppen  seuarne  stal>e : 
sel  har  him  J'uhte. 
on  fest  Radestone : 
ID  }>er  he  bock  radde. 

Hit  com  him  on  mode  : 
&  on  his  mern  )>onke. 


A  priest  was  among  the  people 
Who  was  called  Layamon. 
He  was  Levenath's  son  : 
Gracious  to  him  be  the  Lord. 
He  dwelt  at  Ernly, 
At  a  noble  church 
Upon  Severn's  bank, 
(Well  there  to  him  it  seemed), 
Fast  by  Radestone. 
There  he  read  books. 
It  came  to  him  in  mind, 
And  in  his  chief  thought, 


1  In  the  manuscript  all  the  lines  are  run  together,  like  prose.  The 
scribe's  punctuation  is  reproduced  in  the  following  e.xtract.  Note  also 
the  equivalence  of  S  and  \>,  as,  for  example,  in  lines  4  and  48. 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY 


67 


)>et  he  wolde  of  engle  : 

ha  ac'Selain  tellen. 
15  wat  heo  ihoten  weoren  : 

&  wonene  heo  comen. 

|>a  englene  londe  : 

aerest  ahten. 

asfter  l>an  flode  : 
20  be  from  drihtene  com. 

)'e  al  her  aqiielde  : 

quic  I'at  he  funde. 

buten  noe  &  sem  : 

japhet  &  cham. 
25  &  heore  four  wiues: 

Jje  mid  heom  weren  on  archen. 

la^amon  gon  li'Sen : 

wide  :;ond  has  leode. 

&  hi  won  I'a  as'Sela  boc  : 
30  J'a  he  to  bisne  nom. 

he  nom  ^a  engHsca  boc  : 

}>a  makede  seint  Beda. 

an  oher  he  nom. on  latin  : 

i>e  makede  seinte  albin. 
35  &  he  feire  austin  : 

l>e  fulluht  broute  hider  in. 

boc  he  nom  l-e  hridde  : 

leide  I'er  amidden. 

ha  makede  a  frenchis  clerc  : 
40  wace  wes  ihoten  : 

he  wel  couhe  writen. 

&  he  hoe  ^ef  hare  aehelen  : 

ahenor  he  wes  henries  cjuene  : 

hes  he^es  kinges. 
45  lajamon  leide  heos  boc  : 

&  ha  leaf  wende. 

he  heom  leofliche  biheokl. 

lihe  him  beo  drihten. 

fejieren  he  nom  mid  fingren  : 
50  &  fiede  on  boc  felle  : 

&  ha  sohe  word  : 

sette  to  gadere. 


That  he  would  of  the  English 

The  noble  lineage  tell ; 

What  they  were  named 

And  whence  they  came, 

Who  English  land 

First  owned 

After  the  flood 

Which  came  from  the  Lord, 

Which  quelled  all  here 

That  it  found  alive, 

Except  Noah  and  Shem, 

Japhet  and  Ham, 

And  their  four  wives 

Who  with  them  were  in  the  ark. 

Layamon  began  to  travel 

Far  among  this  people, 

And  obtained  the  noble  books 

Which  he  for  pattern  took. 

He  took  the  English  book 

Which  Saint  Bede  made  ; 

Another  he  took  in  Latin, 

Which  Saint  Albin  made, 

And  the  fair  Austin 

Who  brought  baptism  in  hither. 

The  third  book  he  took ; 

Laid  it  there  in  the  midst  ; 

Which  a  French  scholar  made; 

Wace  he  was  called. 

He  could  write  well. 

And  he  gave  it  to  the  noble 

Eleanor  who  was  queen  of  Henry 

The  high  king. 

Layamon  laid  down  these  books 

And  turned  the  leaves. 

He  beheld  them  lovingly  : 

Gracious  be  the  Lord  to  him. 

A  pen  he  took  with  fingers,. 

And  wrote  on  book-skin. 

And  the  true  Words 

He  set  together. 


'68 


EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


&  l^a  J're  boc : 
hrumde  to  are. 

55  Nu  biddeS  la^amon 
alcne  ze)>ele  mon : 
for  J>ene  almiten  godd. 
bet  beos  boc  rede  : 
&  leornia  beos  runan. 

60  t>at  he  beos  soSfeste  word : 
segge  to  sumne. 
for  his  fader  saule  : 
ba  hine  for'5  brouhte. 
&  for  his  moder  saule  : 

65  ba  hine  to  monne  iber. 
&  for  his  awene  saule  : 
bat  hire  l-e  selre  beo. 

Amen. 


And  the  three  books 
Compressed  to  one. 
Now  prayeth  Layamon. 
To  every  upright  man 
(For  the  sake  of  the  Almighty  God) 
That  reads  this  book 
And  learns  this  teaching, 
That  he  these  solemn  words 
Say  together :  — 
For  his  father's  soul 
That  brought  him  forth, 
And  for  his  mother's  soul 
That  bore  him  to  man. 
And  for  his  own  soul. 
That  with  it  the  better  it  may  be. 
Amen. 


Of  the  three  authorities  mentioned  by  La}amon,  it  is 
evident  that  he  rched  chiefl}-  upon  Wace  ;  but  Layamon's 
poem,  which  contains  32,250  hnes,  is  more  than  twice 
as  long  as  Wace's  Brut,  and  we  cannot  always  discover 
any  specific  authority  for  the  new  material.  Probably 
Layamon's  nearness  to  the  Welsh  border  afforded  him 
the  same  opportunity  that  Geoffrey  had  enjoyed,  of 
first-hand  acquaintance  with  the  Welsh  legends ;  but 
it  is  also  not  unlikely  that  much  of  his  narrative  is  of 
his  own  invention.  He  professes  to  be  a  historian,  but 
in  the  mediaeval  mind  the  notions  of  history  and  romance 
were  curiously  blended  ;  and  therefore  when  we  find 
Layamon  mentioning  Bede  and  Wace  in  the  same 
breath,  as  equally  authoritative,  we  need  not  be  sur- 
prised if  we  also  find  that  he  regards  the  authority  of 
neither  as  binding. 

The  intrinsic  literary  merits  of  Layamon's  Brut  are 
not    inconsiderable,  but  the  work  is   important    chiefly 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY  69 

because  of  its  historical  position.  It  marks  the  begin- 
ning of  Middle  English  literature.  Before  it,  as  we  have 
seen,  there  had  for  a  long  time  been  nothing  of  impor- 
tance except  devotional  works.  The  Brut  itself  is 
closer  to  the  Old  English  in  language  and  metrical 
form  than  to  the  modern  ;  but  in  the  romantic  spirit 
which  pervades  it,  in  the  love  of  a  story  purely  as  a 
story,  it  is  akin  to  the  French  literature  of  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries,  and  to  the  English  of  the 
thirteenth  and  fourteenth. 

For  reasons  explained  at  the  end  of  the  last  chapter, 
the  English  romances  were,  as  a  group,  a  century  or 
more  later  than  the  corresponding  French  forms.  It 
was  but  natural  that  most  of  them  should  be  translations 
or  adaptations  of  French  models.  Some  of  the  earliest, 
however,  are  thought  to  have  been  originally  Teutonic 
stories.  The  English  versions  are  from  the  French,  but 
the  French  versions  were  themselves  translated  from, 
or  at  least  based  upon,  Germanic  or  English  or  Scandi- 
navian myths.  Among  these  perhaps  is  King  Horn, 
which  took  final  shape  in  English  verse  between  the 
middle  and  end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  this  there 
is  none  of  the  attenuated  spirit  of  some  of  the  Arthurian 
romances,  —  neither  the  half-sensual  chivalry  of  the 
Contc  de  la  CJiarrette,  nor  the  half-ascetic  chivalry  of 
parts  of  the  Grail  romances.  Horn  is  a  boy  king  exiled 
from  his  kingdom  by  paynim  invaders.  He  has  mon- 
strous adventures  in  strange  lands,  and  finally  returns 
to  reconquer  his  inheritance.  The  author  found  more 
delight  in  the  copious  flow  of  blood  than  in  the  amenities 
of  kniirhthood.     It  is  true  that  the  element  of  love  offers 


JO  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

the  chief  interest  of  the  story,  but  even  the  love-making 
is  distinctly  different  from  that  in  the  Conte  de  la  CJiar- 
rette.  Horn  was  sent  for  by  Rymenhild,  a  king's 
daughter,  and  when  he  entered  her  bower, 

Rymenhild  up  gan  stonde 
and  tok  him  bi  ])e  honde  : 
heo  ^  sette  him  on  pelle- 
of  wyn  to  drinke  his  fulle : 
heo  makede  him  faire  chere 
and  tok  him  abate  pe  swere.^ 
Ofte  heo  him  custe  ^ 
so  wel  so  hire  ^  luste." 
"Horn,"  heo  sede,  "wi|'ute  strif 
I'u  shalt  haue  me  to  ])i  \\\i. 
Horn,  haue  of  me  rewjie' 
and  pli3t  me  )'i  trewj'e." 
Horn  ];o  *  him  bi]»o;te 
what  he  speke  mi^te, 

etc. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  in  passing,  that  King  Horn  exhibits 
a  stage  of  transition  between  the  Old  English  and  the 
modern  poetry,  not  only  in  its  substance,  but  also  in  its 
metrical  form.  Each  line  seems  to  be  modeled  roughly 
upon  the  half-line  of  the  older  poetry,  for  it  contains  two 
important  accented  syllables,  and  an  indeterminate  num- 
ber of  unaccented  ones  ;  but  instead  of  being  bound 
together  by  alliteration  these  lines  are  generally  made 
to  rime.  Old-fashioned  alliteration  is  indeed  common 
in  the  poem,  but  it  is  not  obligatory.  In  Layamon's 
Brnt  rime  is  not  uncommon  but,  as  we  have  seen, 
alliteration  is  the  rule. 

^she.     -dais.     '^  neck.     *  kissed,     ^her.     ''pleased,     'pity.     ^  then. 


THE    ROMANCES    OF    CIIIVA1,KV  /I 

28.  Malory's  Morte  Darthur.  —  Some-  forty  English  ro 
maiK-cs  are  easily  accessible  in  modern  editions.  In 
general,  they  were  written  in  more  or  less  close  imitation 
of  the  French  fashions  already  described,  even  when 
they  were  not  actual  translations.  They  tell  stories  of 
all  the  strange  worlds  of  mediaeval  fiction ;  but  the 
world  of  Homeric  m}th,  or  the  world  of  Charlemagne 
and  Roland,  gave  nf)  such  pleasure  in  England  as  that 
of  Arthur's  Round  Table,  and  consequently  most  of  the 
best  Englisli  romances  belong  to  the  Arthurian  cycle. 
Among  these  are  Gawayne  and  the  Green  KnigJit,  The 
Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  Lancelot  of  the  Lake,  and 
the  JMorte  Arthur.  All  abound  in  fantastical  deeds  of 
chi\-alrous  valor.  For  example,  in  Lancelot  of  the  L^ake 
we  are  told  of  one  of  Arthur's  neighbors,  the  mighty 
King  Galiot,  who  wantonly  in\'ades  Arthur's  land  for 
the  purpose  of  reducing  it  to  subjection.  After  a  long 
and  fierce  contest,  Galiot  finds  that  he  is  on  the  point 
of  winning  an  overwhelming  victory  ;  but  as  he  sees 
that  Arthur's  forces  are  no  match  for  him,  and  that 
therefore  there  will  be  no  great  glory  in  such  a  result, 
he  decides  to  withdraw  for  a  year,  to  give  Arthur  time 
to  strengthen  himself.  At  the  year's  end  he  somewhat 
illogically  brings  back  with  him  three  times  as  many 
men  as  he  had  at  first,  and  the  struggle  is  renewed  with 
the  old  ferocity.  In  both  battles,  of  course,  Lancelot 
is  the  hero,  and  in  both  battles  his  one  desire  is  to  at- 
tract the  favorable  attention  of  Guinevere,  who  watches 
from  the  walls. 

But  the  noblest  specimen  of  English  mediaeval  romance 
is  Sir  Thomas   Malory's  Morte  Dartliur,  written  about 


72  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

1470.  This  was  an  attempt  to  put  into  English  prose 
a  compendious  account  of  all  the  deeds  of  Arthur  and 
his  knights,  as  related  in  the  best  of  the  early  French 
romances.  It  was  a  unification  of  the  whole  Arthurian 
cycle,  made  long  after  the  flourishing  period  of  romance 
by  a  knight  who  loved  the  bygone  literature  of  chivalry, 
and  was  unwilling  to  let  it  die. 

Sir  Thomas  Malory's  compilation  is  not  faultlessly 
made.  It  is  full  of  inconsistencies  and  confusing  di- 
gressions, and  where  the  author  had  his  choice  between 
two  versions  of  a  story  he  sometimes  chose  the  inferior 
one.  There  is  little  in  it  that  shows  invention,  for  the 
best  incidents  and  characters  were  transferred  bodily 
from  older  books.  But  the  author  had  one  great  gift  — 
the  gift  of  style.  His  English  is  sometimes  loose  and 
often  awkward,  but  it  is  always  picturesque  and  vivid, 
and  it  makes  the  narrative  live.  It  is  therefore  the  best 
reading  for  one  who  wants  a  general  introduction  to 
mediaeval  romance. 

The  Moi'te  Darthtw  well  illustrates  the  complexity  of 
the  spirit  of  mediasval  romance.  Malory  reproduced  the 
moral  spirit  of  the  court  when  he  told  the  Tale  of  the 
Car,  and  that  of  the  cloister  when  he  told  the  Quest  of 
the  Grail.  Part  of  the  time  we  are  asked  to  sympathize 
with  Lancelot  and  Guinevere  as  we  should  with  any 
romantic  lovers,  and  part  of  the  time  they  are  penitents 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  Malory  took  the  stories  as  he 
found  them,  making  little  effort  to  reconcile  their  dis- 
crepancies. 

Some  idea  of  the  way  in  which  successive  generations 
of  romancers  used  the  materials  of  the  Arthur  legend 


tup:  romances  of  ciiivalrv  73 

may  be  obtained  by  comparing  several  accounts  of  a 
single  incident,  such  as,  for  example,  the  death  of  the 
king.  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  after  describing  Arthur's 
campaign  against  his  sister's  son,  Modred,  and  the  death 
of  the  latter  in  the  last  great  battle  in  the  west,  says  : 

But  the  renowned  King  Arthur  was  mortally  wounded 
also;  and  b^ing  carried  thence  to  the  Island  of  Avallon 
for  the  healing  of  his  wounds,  he  abdicated  the  crown  of 
Britain  to  his  kinsman  Constantine,  son  of  Cador  the  Duke 
of  Cornwall,  in  the  542d  year  of  our  Lord's  incarnation. 

Layamon's  account  (modernized)  is  as  follows: 

And  Arthur  was  wounded  with  a  broad  war-spear. 
Fifteen  dreadful  wounds  he  had,  in  the  least  of  which 
one  might  thrust  two  gloves.  Then  there  were  no  more 
left  there  in  that  fight,  of  the  two  hundred  thousand  men 
that  lay  there  hewn  to  pieces,  save  only  Arthur  the  king 
and  two  of  his  knights.  Arthur  was  most  grievously 
wounded.  There  came  to  him  a  lad  that  was  of  his  own 
kin,  the  son  of  Cador,  Earl  of  Cornwall ;  Constantine  was 
the  lad's  name,  and  he  was  dear  to  the  king.  Arthur  looked 
on  him  as  he  lay  on  the  ground,  and  spoke  these  words 
with  sorrowful  heart :  "  Constantine,  thou  art  welcome ; 
thou  wert  Cador 's  son.  Here  I  commit  to  thee  my  king- 
dom :  guard  thou  my  Britons  to  the  end  of  thy  life,  and 
keep  for  them  all  the  laws  that  have  stood  in  my  days,  and 
all  the  good  laws  that  stood  in  the  days  of  Uther.  And  I 
will  go  to  Avalun,  to  the  fairest  of  all  maidens,  to  Argante 
the  beautiful  queen  of  the  elves ;  and  she  shall  make  all  my 
wounds  sound,  and  make  me  whole  with  healing  draughts. 
And  afterwards  I  will  come  again  to  my  kingdom  and 
dwell  with  the  Britons  with  great  joy." 

Even  at  these  words  there  came  from  the  sea  a  little 
boat  floating  with  the  waves,  and  two  women  therein  of 


74  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

wondrous  beauty ;  and  they  straightway  took  Arthur  into 
the  boat,  and  gently  laid  him  down,  and  so  they  departed. 
Then  was  it  accomplished  as  Merlin  had  said,  that  there 
should  be  measureless  sorrow  of  Arthur's  departure.  But 
the  Britons  believe  yet  that  he  is  alive,  and  dwells  in 
Avalun  with  the  fairest  of  all  elves ;  and  they  are  still  ever 
expecting  when  Arthur  shall  return.  But  there  was  never 
man  born,  nor  beloved  of  woman,  that  can  truthfully  say 
more  of  Arthur. 

In  the  course  of  the  centuries  that  elapsed  before 
Malory  gave  the  final  nicclia;val  version  of  the  story, 
many  ne\v  details  were  added.  The  subject  of  the 
king's  death,  and  the  speculation  as  to  his  return, 
fills  two  and  a  half  chapters  of  the  Morte  DartJiur. 
Only  the  greater  part  of  the  first  can  be  given  here. 

"A,  Syr  Launcelot,"  sayd  kyng  Arthur,  "  thys  day  have 
I  sore  myst  the.  Alas  !  that  ever  I  was  ayenst  the,  for 
now  have  I  my  dethe,  wherof  Syr  Gauwayn  me  warned  in 
my  dreme."  Than  Syr  Lucan  took  up  the  kyng  the  one 
parte,  and  Syr  Bed  were  the  other  parte,  and  in  the  lyftyng 
the  kyng  sowned,  and  Syr  Lucan  fyl  in  a  sowne  wyth  the 
lyfte,  that  the  parte  of  his  guttes  fyl  oute  of  his  bodye.  And 
therwyth  the  noble  knyghtes  herte  braste.  And  wh,an  the 
kyng  awake,  he  behelde  Syr  Lucan  how  he  laye  fooming  at 
the  mowth,  and  parte  of  his  guttes  laye  at  his  feet.  "Alas  !  " 
sayd  the  kyng,  "  thys  is  to  me  a  ful  hevy  syght  to  see  thys 
noble  duke  so  deye  for  my  sake,  for  he  wold  have  holpen 
me  that  had  more  nede  of  helpe  than  L  Alas  !  he  wold 
not  complayne  hym,  hys  herte  was  so  sette  to  helpe  me. 
Now  Jhesu  have  mercy  upon  hys  soule."  Than  Syr  Bed- 
were  wepte  for  the  deth  of  his  brother.  "  Leve  thys 
mornyng  andwepyng,"  sayd  the  kyng,  "for  al  this  wyl 
not  avaylle  me  ;  for  wyte  thou  wel,  and  I  myght  lyve  my 
self,  the  deth  of  Syr  Lucan  wolde  greve  me  ever  more,  but 


rilK    ROMANCES    OF    CHIVALRY  75 

my  tyme  hyeth  fast,"  sayd  the  kyng.  "Therfore,"  sayd 
Arthur  unto  Syr  Bedwere,  "  take  thou  Excalybur,  my  good 
swerde,  and  goo  with  it  to  yonder  water  syde,  and  whan 
thou  comest  there,  I  charge  the  throwe  my  swerde  in  that 
water,  and  come  ageyn  and  telle  me  what  thou  there  seest." 
"My  lord,"  sayd  Eedwere,  "your  commaundement  shal  be 
doon,  and  lyghtly  brynge  you  worde  ageyn." 

So  Syr  Bedwere  departed,  and  by  the  waye  he  behelde 
that  noble  swerde,  that  the  pomel  and  the  hafte  was  al  of 
precyous  stones  ;  and  thenne  he  sayd  to  hym  self,  "  Yf  I 
throwe  this  ryche  swerde  in  the  water,  therof  shal  never 
come  good,  but  harme  and  losse."  And  thenne  Syr  Bed- 
were  hydde  Excalybur  under  a  tree.  And  so  as  sone  as  he 
myght  he  came  ageyn  unto  the  kyng,  and  sayd  he  had  ben 
at  the  water,  and  had  throwen  the  swerd  in  to  the  water. 
"What  sawe  thou  there?"  sayd  the  kyng.  "Syr,"  he 
sayd,  "I  sawe  no  thynge  but  wawes  and  wyndes."  "That 
is  untrewly  sayd  of  the,"  sayd  the  kynge.  "  Therfore  goo 
thou  lyghtelye  ageyn,  and  do  my  commaundemente ;  as 
thou  arte  to  me  leef  and  dere,  spare  not  but  throwe  it  in." 
Than  Syr  Bedwere  retorned  ageyn,  and  took  the  swerde 
in  hys  hande,  and  than  hym  thought  synne  and  shame  to 
throwe  awaye  that  nobyl  swerde ;  and  so  efte  he  hydde  the 
swerde,  and  retorned  ageyn  and  tolde  to  the  kyng  that  he 
had  ben  at  the  water,  and  done  his  commaundemente. 
"What  sawe  thou  there?"  sayd  the  kyng.  "Syr,"  he 
sayd,  "  I  sawe  no  thynge  but  the  waters  wappe  and  wawes 
wanne."  "A,  traytour,  untrewe,"  sayd  kyng  Arthur,  "now 
hast  thou  betrayed  me  twyse.  Who  wold  have  wente  that 
thou  that  hast  been  to  me  so  leef  and  dere,  and  thou  arte 
named  a  noble  knyghte,  and  wold  betraye  me  for  the 
richesse  of  the  swerde  ?  But  now  goo  ageyn  lyghtly,  for 
thy  longe  taryeng  putteth  me  in  grete  jeopardye  of  my  lyf, 
for  I  have  taken  colde ;  and  but  yf  thou  do  now  as  I  byd 
the,  yf  ever  I  may  see  the  I  shal  slee  the  with  myn  owne 
handes,  for  thou  woldest  for  my  ryche  swerde  see  me  dede." 


76  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Thenne  Syr  Bedwere  departed,  and  wente  to  the  swerde, 
and  lyghtly  took  hit  up,  and  wente  to  the  water  syde,  and 
there  he  bounde  the  gyrdyl  aboute  the  hyltes,  and  thenne 
he  threwe  the  swerde  as  farre  in  to  the  water  as  he  myght. 
And  there  cam  an  arme  and  an  hande  above  the  water  and 
mette  it,  and  caught  it,  and  so  shoke  it  thryse  and  braun- 
dysshed  ;  and  than  vanysshed  awaye  the  hande  wyth  the 
swerde  in  the  water.  So  Syr  Bedwere  came  ageyn  to  the 
kyng  and  tolde  hym  what  he  sawe. 

"Alas  !  "  sayd  the  kyng,  "helpe  me  hens,  for  I  drede  me 
1  have  taryed  over  longe."  Than  Syr  Bedwere  toke  the 
kyng  upon  his  backe,  and  so  wente  wyth  hym  to  that  water 
syde,  and  whan  they  were  at  the  water  syde,  evyn  fast  by 
the  banke  hoved  a  lytyl  barge  wyth  many  f ayr  ladyes  in 
hit,  and  emonge  hem  al  was  a  quene,  and  al  they  had 
blacke  hoodes,  and  al  they  wepte  and  shryked  whan  they 
sawe  kyng  Arthur.  "  Now  put  me  in  to  the  barge,"  sayd 
the  kyng  ;  and  so  he  dyd  softelye.  And  there  receyved 
hym  thre  queues  wyth  grete  mornyng,  and  soo  they  sette 
hem  doun,  and  in  one  of  their  lappes  kyng  Arthur  layed 
hys  heed,  and  than  that  quene  sayd,  "  A,  dere  broder,  why 
have  ye  taryed  so  longe  from  me  ?  Alas  !  this  wounde  on 
your  heed  hath  caught  overmoche  colde."  And  soo  than 
they  rowed  from  the  londe,  and  Syr  Bedwere  behelde  all 
tho  ladyes  goo  from  hym.  Than  Syr  Bedwere  cryed,  "  A, 
my  lord  Arthur,  what  shal  become  of  me,  now  ye  goo  from 
me  and  leve  me  here  allone  emonge  myn  enemyes  ? " 
"Comfort  thy  self,"  sayd  the  kyng,  "and  doo  as  wel  as 
thou  mayst,  for  in  me  is  no  truste  for  to  truste  in.  For  I 
wyl  in  to  the  vale  of  Avylyon,  to  hele  me  of  my  grevous 
wounde.  And  yf  thou  here  never  more  of  me,  praye  for 
my  soule."  But  ever  the  quenes  and  ladyes  wepte  and 
shryched,  that  hit  was  pyte  to  here.  And  assone  as  Syr 
Bedwere  had  loste  the  syght  of  the  baarge,  he  wepte  and 
waylled,  and  so  took  the  foreste. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   EARLY   MIDDLE   ENGLISH   PERIOD 

29.  The  Bestiary.  —  Retracing  our  way  to  the  thirteenth 
century,  we  find  that  tlie  development  of  the  romantic 
spirit  liad  Httle  or  no  effect  upon  the  purely  religious 
literature  of  England.  There  were  paraphrases  of  the 
Scriptures,  lives  of  saints,  sermons,  and  other  kinds  of 
didactic  writing,  in  greater  abundance  than  before.  The 
legend  of  St.  Alexis  has  already  been  considered.  One 
other  specimen  will  serve,  not  indeed  as  a  tyi^e,  for  it  is 
unique  in  English  literature,  but  as  a  curious  illustra- 
tion of  some  phases  of  mediaeval  feeling.  The  Bestiary 
begins  as  follows  : 

Natura  leonis  prima. 

De  leun  stant  on  hille, 
and  he  man  hunten  here, 
08er  tiurg  his  nese  smel 
Smake  (Sat  he  negge, 
Bi  wile  weie  so  he  wile 
To  dele  niSer  wenden, 
Alle  hise  fet-steppes 
After  him  he  filled, 
Drageb  dust  wi6  his  stert 
i5er  he  dun  steppeti, 
Otier  dust  o5er  deu, 
^at  he  ne  cunne  is  finden, 
driueS  dun  to  his  den 
Sar  he  him  bergen  wille. 
77 


78  EARLY    ENGLLSU    LITERATURE 

In   modern    English   this   and    the    lines    immediately 
suceeeding  are  as  follows  : 

First  nature  of  the  lion. 

The  lion  stands  on  a  hill. 
If  he  hear  a  man  hunting, 
Or  through  his  nose's  scent 
Perceive  that  he  approaches, 
By  whatsoever  way  he  will 
Go  down  to  the  valley, 
All  his  footsteps 
After  him  he  filleth  ; 
Draggeth  dust  with  his  tail 
Into  the  places  where  he  steps, 
(Either  dust  or  dew), 
So  the  hunter  cannot  find  them  ; 
And  so  runs  down  to  his  den 
Where  he  will  hide  himself. 

Second. 

Another  nature  he  hath  : 

When  he  is  born 

Still  lieth  the  lion, 

And  he  stirreth  not  from  sleep 

Till  the  sun  hath  shone 

Thrice  about  him. 

Then  his  father  raiseth  him 

With  the  roar  that  he  makes. 

Third. 

The  third  law  hath  the  lion  : 
When  he  lies  down  to  sleep 
He  shall  never  shut 
The  lids  of  his  eyes. 


Till-:    KARLV    MIDDLE    ENGLISH    PERIOD  79 

Signification  of  the  first  nature. 

Very  high  is  that  hill 

Which  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Our  Lord  is  the  lion 

Who  lives  there  above. 

How  when  it  pleased  him 

To  alight  here  on  earth, 

Might  never  devil  know, 

Though  he  be  a  clever  hunter. 

How  he  came  down 

Nor  how  he  made  his  den 

In  that  gentle  maiden, 

Mary  by  name. 

Who  bore  him  for  the  good  of  man. 

Second  and  third. 

When  our  Lord  was  dead. 

And  buried,  as  his  will  was, 

In  a  stone  still  he  lay 

Till  it  came  the  third  day. 

His  Father  aided  him  so 

That  he  rose  from  the  dead  then, 

To  keep  us  alive. 

He  waketh  (so  is  his  will) 

As  a  shepherd  for  his  flock ; 

He  is  shepherd,  we  are  sheep ; 

Shield  us  he  will, 

If  we  hearken  to  his  word 

That  we  go  nowhere  astray. 

The  rest  of  the  poem  takes  up  a  number  of  other 
animals,  points  out  their  supposed  peculiarities,  and  ex- 
i:)lains  their  allegorical  significance.  The  quaintest  part, 
])erhaps,  is  that  about  the  elephant.      He  is  described  as 


So  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

an  Indian  animal  of  such  unwieldy  build  that  if  he  ever 
falls  down  he  cannot  get  up  again  without  help.  \Vlien 
he  is  sick  he  wades  into  deep  water,  which  keeps  him 
half  afloat,  and  when  he  wants  to  sleep  he  leans  against 
a  tree.  Hunters  sometimes  discover  which  are  the  ele- 
phant's favorite  trees,  and  saw  them  half  in  two  ;  so  that 
when  the  animal  comes  to  one  of  them  and  trustfully 
leans  against  it,  it  yields  and  he  falls  down.  Then,  how- 
ever, he  roars  aloud,  and  other  elephants  come  to  help 
him.  They  struggle  hard,  but  are  unsuccessful ;  so  they 
add  their  cries  to  his,  and  then  a  little  elephant  comes 
up  :  he  pushes  his  head  under  the  sufferer's  side,  as  a 
sort  of  wedge,  and  so  raises  him.  Then  follows  the 
"  signification."  Adam  fell  through  a  tree,  and  in  his  fall 
the  whole  race  was  lost.  Man  cried  aloud  to  heaven, 
and  Moses  and  the  prophets  came,  but  they  could,  not 
raise  him  to  his  former  estate  ;  but  they  all  lifted  up 
their  voices,  and  at  last  Christ  came,  and  through  him 
the  redemption  was  accomplished. 

This  poem  aptly  illustrates  the  unscientific  credulity 
of  the  mediaeval  mind,  and  also  its  fondness  for  allegory. 
These  two  qualities  are  the  essence  of  much  of  the 
beauty  of  mediaevalism,  in  the  forms  in  which  modern 
artists  have  sought  to  revive  it.  In  the  nineteenth- 
century  pre-Raphaelites,  for  example,  we  find  a  mystical 
faculty  for  seeing  in  material  wonders  a  deep  spiritual 
significance.  In  their  hands  mediaevalism  assumes  a  rare 
and  genuine  beauty,  but  they  have  accomplished  this  by 
a  transformation  rather  than  by  a  literal  reproduction 
of  its  spirit.  The  Bestiary  illustrates  not  unfair!)-  the 
usual  crudeness  of  the  oriuinal. 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLLSH    PERIOD  8 1 

The  origin  of  this  i:>oeni  is  obscure.  The  ancients 
were  fond  of  ascribing  fabulous  qualities  to  animals,  as 
we  know  from  /Esop's  fables,  for  example.  The  early 
Christians,  who  had  a  passion  for  allegory,  devised 
Christian  interpretations  of  these  qualities,  and  in  the 
course  of  time  custom  established  a  fixed  myth  and  a 
fixed  signification  for  each  animal.  The  panther,  for 
cxami:)le,  who  always  suggested  Christ,  was  a  beautiful 
animal  with  a  sweet-scented  breath.  As  early  as  the 
fourth  century  a  certain  Christian  writer,  having  occa- 
sion to  mention  a  peculiar  "nature"  of  the  serpent, 
cites  "the  physiologists"  as  authority;  from  which  we 
may  infer  that  Bestiaries  already  existed.  In  the  middle 
ages  a  dozen  or  more  of  them  were  written,  in  a  dozen 
different  languages  ;  and  they  were  commonly  spoken  of 
as  written  by  "  Physiologus."  Thus  we  read  in  Chaucer 
that 

Chauntecleer  so  free 
Song  merier  than  the  mermayde  in  the  see  ; 
For  Phisiologus  seith  sikerly  ^ 
How  that  they  singen  wel  and  merily. 

A  Latin  Bestiary  of  the  eighth  century  is  the  earliest 
known,  but  evidently  not  the  earliest  written.  Of  course 
these  books  were  written  for  the  instruction  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  and  it  seems  pretty  clear  that  their  odd  stories 
must  have  been  believed.  This  is  not  so  hard  to  under- 
stand, when  we  recall  the  strange  beliefs  we  ourselves 
held  in  childhood,  about  ear-wigs,  darning-needles,  horse- 
hair snakes,  etc. 

1  Certainly. 


82  EARI.V    ENXxLISH    LITERATURE 

30.  The  Earliest  Lyrics.  —  The  following  song  is  pre- 
served in  a  manuscript  in  the  British  Museum.  Its  date 
must  be  about  1250. 

Sumer  is  icumen  in,  Ihude  sing  cuccu : 

Gro\ve|i  sed  and  blowej)  med '  and  spring]'  )'e  wude  nu:- 

Sing  cuccu. 
Awe  blete)'  after  lomb,  Ihou)'"  after  calue  cu : 
Bulluc  sterte)',*  bucke  uerte|i,'  murie  sing,  cuccu. 

Cuccu,  cuccu, 
Wei  singes  )m,  cuccu  ;  ne  swik'^  jm  nauer  nu. 

The  following  is  of  slightly  later  date.  Only  the  first 
half  of  the  song  is  given  here. 

Bytuene  Mershe  &  Aueril 
When  spray  biginne]'  to  springe, 

]'e  lutel  foul  ha]'  hire  vvyl 
On  '  hyre  lud  ^  to  synge  ; 
Ich  '■'  libbe  ^'^  in  louelonginge 
For  semlokest  ^^  of  alle  ]'ynge  ; 
He^-  may  me  blisse  bringe, 

Icham^^  in  hire  baundoun." 
An  hendy  hap  ichabbe  yhent,^^ 
Ichot  ^^  from  heuene  it  is  me  sent, 
From  alle  wymmen  mi  loue  is  lent  ^' 

&  lyht  ^*  on  Alysoun. 

On  heu  '^  hire  her  -"  is  fayr  ynoh, 
Hire  browe  broune,  hire  e;e  blake ; 
Wi]'  lossura  -^  chere  he  on  me  loh  ;  ~ 

'  mead.  -  now.  ^  loweth.  ■*  leapeth.  "  runs  to  cover.  <*  cease. 
"  according  to.  *  voice.  ^  J.  ^"  live.  i*  the  fairest.  ^'-  she. 
^•^  I  am.  1*  power.  ^°  A  happy  fortune  I  have  achieved.  ^''  I  wot. 
1'  turned.        J*  alighted.        '^  hue.        -^  hair.        -^  lovely.        ~  laughed. 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLLSII    PERIOD  83 

Wi|)  niidclel  smal  &  wel  ymake  ;  ^ 
Bote'"  he  me  wolle  to  hire  take, 
Forte  ^  buen  hire  owen  make/ 
Longe  to  lyuen  ichulle  ^  forsake, 

&  feye  ''  fallen  adoun. 
An  hendy  hap  ichabbe  yhent, 
Ichot  from  heuene  it  is  me  sent. 
From  alia  wymmen  mi  loue  is  lent 

(S:  lyht  on  Alysoun. 

Both  these  songs  are  simple  and  crude,  but  they  have 
something  that  is  better  than  polish,  namely,  spontaneity. 
The  Cuckoo  Song  is  commonly  regarded  as  of  popular 
origin,  like  our   southern  negro  melodies,  for  example  ; 
but  the  words  are  accompanied  in  the  manuscript  with 
the  music,  and  experts  say  that  the  music  is  too  elaborate  . 
for  a  true  folk-song.      Probably  both  songs  were  com-  j 
posed  by  educated  men,  —  clerks,  as  they  were  commonly  I 
called,  —  and  doubtless  there  were  many  like  them  which 
no   "hendy  hap"  has  preserved    for    us.      During  the 
early  Middle  English  period  the  great  universities  were  1 
expanding,  and  sending  out  continually  greater  numbers  j" 
of  clerks.     At  the  same  time,  as  we  shall  see,  the  church  ' 
was  not   extending  its   usefulness.      Thus   there    came 
into  being  an  increasing  number  of    wandering  clerks, 
educated   for  the   church    but    only  nominally  attached 
to  it.      They  had  studied  rhetoric  and  theology  at  Paris 
and  Oxford,  but  had  observed  human  nature  in  wayside  \, 
taverns ;  and  they  could  use  the  lyrical  art  of  France  I 
to  give  expression  to  the  life  and  character  of  England.  |f 
Chaucer  tells  us  of   two   unbeneficed  clerks  ;    one  was 

*  made.         ^  unless.         ^  for  to.         ■♦  mate.        ''  I  will.        •^  dying. 


84  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

a  sober  and  God-fearing  man  who  spent  all  his  slender 
means  on  books,  and  cared  for  little  beyond  learning 
and  devotion  ;  but  the  other  sang  and  played  the  psal- 
tery, and  cultivated  habits  of  study  only  because  they 
helped  him  to  mask  his  worldly  inclinations.  With  a 
large  and  increasing  leisure  class  of  this  sort,  it  was 
natural  that  a  considerable  body  of  secular  lyrics  should 
come  into  being. 

31.  Fabliau  and  Satire.  —  The  fabliaux  were  a  species 
of  short  verse-narrati\e  \'ery  common  in  France  during 
the  thirteenth  century,  —  that  is,  during  the  best  period 
of  the  romances  of  chivalry.  Only  one  English  fabliau 
has  corrie  down  to  us  from  this  period,  but  that  one 
illustrates  some  interesting  features  of  contemporary 
life.  It  is  known  as  Davie  Siriz,  and  is  substantially 
as  follows  : 

There  was  once  a  clerk  named  Wilekin,  who  fell  in  love 
with  a  married  woman,  Margeri.  He  called  on  her  once 
when  her  husband  had  gone  to  town  on  business,  told  her 
how  for  many  a  year  he  had  been  pining  for  her,  and 
begged  her  to  accept  his  love.  She  assured  him  with 
emphatic  vows  that  she  would  not  think  of  such  a  thing 
for  a  moment ;  that  she  and  her  husband  were  very  happy 
together,  and  that  she  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  to 
deceive  him.  Wilekin  accordingly  went  away  heavy  at 
heart ;  but  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  wise  witch,  Dame 
Siriz,  might  help  him.  He  called  on  her,  therefore,  and 
besought  her  with  fair  speech  to  use  some  of  her  charms  to 
turn  the  heart  of  the  fair  Margeri.  The  old  hag  assumed 
at  first  an  air  of  virtuous  indignation,  protesting  that  she 
was  a  holy  woman,  ignorant  of  all  the  arts  of  witchcraft, 
and  devoted  to  alms-deeds  and  prayer.  When,  however, 
Wilekin  otfered  her  a  pair  of  shoes,  some  warm  furs,  and 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLISH    PERIOD  8$ 

money  to  boot,  she  decided  that  she  could  conscientiously 
interfere  in  his  behalf.  Accordingly  she  calls  her  dog, 
puts  pepper  in  its  eyes  and  mustard  in  its  mouth,  and  takes 
it  to  the  house  of  Margeri.  There  she  begs  for  food  and 
drink,  and  after  the  good  wife  has  supplied  her  wants  she 
bursts  into  tears.  "Poor  woman,"  said  Margeri,  "what 
aileth  thee?"  "Alas,"  replied  the  witch,  "I  had  a  beau- 
tiful daughter ;  a  lovelier  girl  no  man  ever  saw  ;  and  she 
was  married  to  an  excellent  husband  whom  she  loved  all 
too  well.  One  day  when  he  had  gone  out  there  came  a 
tonsured  clerk  and  offered  her  his  love,  but  she  would 
have  none  of  him  ;  and  then  he  wrought  an  enchantment 
upon  her,  and  turned  her  into  a  dog.  This  is  my  daughter 
that  I  am  telling  you  about ;  see  how  her  eyes  water,  and 
how  the  tears  flow  down  her  cheeks.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  my  heart  is  burst  asunder.  And  any  young  wife  to 
whom  a  clerk  offers  his  love  must  care  very  little  for  her 
life  if  she  does  not  accept  his  offer  straightway."  There- 
upon the  simple  young  woman  is  in  terror  lest  a  similar 
mischance  befall  her,  and  she  begs  Dame  Siriz  to  find 
Wilekin  and  bring  him  back  to  her.  When  he  comes  she 
says,  "Welcome,  Wilekin,  sweet  thing;  thou  art  more  wel- 
come than  the  king.  I  have  changed  my  mind,  and  would 
not  for  anything  have  you  suffer."  And  so  they  are  recon- 
ciled, and  Dame  Siriz  leaves  them  happy  in  each  other's  love. 

TJie  Vox  and  the  Wolf,  a  poem  of  some  300  lines 
written  about  the  year  1300,  may  well  be  classed  with 
Dame  Siriz,  although  strictly  it  is  not  a  fabliau.  That 
name  is  commonly  reserved  for  comic  stories  about 
common  people.  The  Vox  and  the  Wolf  is  a  version  of 
part  of  the  great  French  pseudo-epic  which  celebrated 
the  deeds  of  Reynard  the  Fox  ;  but  in  spirit,  as  we  shall 
see,  it  has  more  of  the  fabliau  than  of  the  e]3ic  or  the 
romance. 


86  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

A  fox  came  from  the  woods,  half  dead  with  hunger. 
He  did  not  walk  along  the  street,  for  he  disliked  meeting 
men  ;  he  would  rather  have  met  one  hen  than  fifty  women. 
So  he  skulked  along  till  he  came  to  a  house  in  which  there 
were  five  hens  and  a  cock.  The  cock  had  flown  up  to  his 
roost,  and  two  of  the  hens  sat  near  him.  "Fox,"  said  the 
cock,  "  what  dost  thou  there  ?  Curse  you,  go  home.  You 
are  always  making  trouble  with  our  hens.  For  heaven's 
sake,  be  still."  (Here  the  narrative  is  a  little  confusing, 
but  apparently  the  fox  eats  one  or  more  of  the  hens.) 
Then  quoth  the  fox,  "  Sir  Chanticleer,  come  down  here.  I 
have  only  been  doing  your  hens  a  kindness ;  I  have  let 
their  blood  ;  they  had  a  disease  under  the  rib,  and  would 
have  died  if  I  had  not  bled  them.  Come  down,  for  you 
have  the  same  trouble  in  the  spleen,  and  you  have  but  a 
short  time  to  live.  I  must  either  bleed  you,  or  go  for  the 
priest." 

But  the  cock  was  proof  against  .his  blandishments  ;  and 
the  fox  had  to  rest  content  with  the  prey  already  seized. 
Now,  however,  he  began  to  suffer  the  torments  of  thirst, 
and  sought  a  well.  There  was  one  close  by,  with  two 
buckets  so  attached  that  when  one  went  up  the  other  went 
down.  Not  understanding  the  contrivance,  the  fox  jumped 
into  the  upper  bucket,  hoping  to  find  water  there  ;  and 
down  it  went  with  him  to  the  bottom.  There  was  water 
enough  down  there,  to  be  sure,  and  he  drank  his  fill,  but 
yet  he  was  not  easy  in  his  mind,  and  he  straightway  began 
to  repent  of  his  sins. 

Just  then  a  wolf  came  by,  seeking  something  to  allay 
the  pangs  of  hunger,  and  sat  down  for  a  moment  by  the 
well.  The  fox  knew  him  by  his  howl,  for  they  were  near 
neighbors.  "Ah,  Sigrim,"he  cried,  "how  I  wish  you  were 
here  with  me!"  "With  you!"  said  the  wolf;  "what 
should  I  be  doing  in  the  pit .-' "  "You  are  unwise,"  replied 
the  fox  ;  "  here  is  the  bliss  of  paradise  ;  here  I  have  ever- 
lasting   happiness   in   prospect,   without    pain    or    sorrow. 


TIIK    KARLN     MlDDl.K    ]<:N(;].lSir    PERlOl)  87 

Here  are  meat  and  drink,  and  bliss  without  labor  ;  here  is 
no  more  hunger,  nor  any  other  woe."  The  wolf  laughed. 
"Are  you  dead,"  said  he,  "or  alive.''"  "Why  should  I 
care  to  be  alive  ?  "  replied  the  fox  ;  "why  live  in  the  filthy 
and  sinful  world,  when  there  are  all  sorts  of  joys  here  ? 
There  are  sheep  and  goats  down  here."  This  last  was  too 
much  for  the  wolf,  and  he  begged  the  fox  to  show  him 
the  way  thither.  The  fox  accordingly  required  him  to 
shrive  himself  (Reynard  acting  as  father  confessor),  and 
after  the  wolf  had  given  a  humiliating  account  of  his  sins, 
the  fox  directed  him  to  get  into  the  bucket  that  he  saw  at 
the  top  of  the  well. 

So  down  went  the  wolf,  and  when  he  was  halfway  down 
he  was  surprised  to  see  the  fox  going  up.  "What  now. 
Gossip,"  said  the  wolf,  "whither  wilt .''  "  "  I  am  going  up," 
said  the  fox;  "go  you  down,  and  take  what  you  can  find 
there.  I  am  heartily  glad  that  you  have  repented  and  con- 
fessed. I  will  have  your  knell  rung,  and  masses  sung  for 
your  soul."  So  the  fox  ran  away,  and  the  wolf  remained 
at  the  bottom,  cursing.  In  the  morning  a  friar  came  to  the 
well  to  draw  water,  and  found  the  bucket  heavy  enough. 
When  he  had  drawn  it  nearly  to  the  top  he  saw  the  wolf, 
and  cried,  "The  devil  is  in  the  pit!"  Thereupon  his 
brethren  came  with  pikes  and  staves  and  stones,  and  the 
wolf  was  done  to  death. 

One  other  specimen  of  the  comic  literature  of  the  time 
will  suffice.  This  is  TJie  Land  of  Cokaygne,  an  English 
version  of  a  satirical  fantasy  current  in  many  languages 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  The  English  poem  is  perhaps 
as  late  as  1300. 

Fur  in  see  bi  west  Spayngne 

Is  a  lond  ihote  Cokaygne. 

I'er  nis  '  lond  under  heuen-riche" 

^  is  not.  -  heaven's  kingdom. 


88  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Of  wel,  of  godnis,  hit  iliche  ;  ^ 

I'O^  paradis  be  miri  and  bri3t, 

Cokaygn  is  of  fairir  si;t. 

What  is  j'er  in  paradis 

Bot  grasse  and  tiure  and  grene  ris  ?^ 

Be]'  jer  no  man  but  two, 
Hely  ^  and  Enok  also  ; 
Elinglich  *  may  hi*  go, 
Whar  per  wonip^  men  no  mo. 

In  Cokaygne  is  met  and  drink 
Wijmte  care,  how,"  and  swink.^ 

Everything  good  is  plentiful.  There  are  no  snakes,  fleas, 
rainstorms  or  diseases  ;  and  water  is  used  only  to  swim  in, 
or  to  beautify  the  landscape.  Rivers  are  generally  of  milk, 
honey,  and  wine.  In  this  land  there  is  a  beautiful  abbey. 
Its  walls  are  all  of  pasties,  fish,  and  meat ;  the  shingles  are 
pan-cakes  and  the  turrets  are  puddings.  There  are  charm- 
ing song-birds  to  delight  the  ear  day  and  night,  and  geese 
fly  ready  roasted  on  the  spit,  crying,  "geese  all  hot,  all 
hot."  Smaller  fowl,  broiled  and  seasoned,  fly  right  into  a 
man's  mouth  when  he  wants  them. 

The  young  monks  go  out  to  play  every  afternoon.  They 
spread  out  their  broad  sleeves  and  their  hoods  for  wings, 
and  fly  through  the  air  like  any  bird,  and  the  abbot  delights 
to  watch  them.  When  it  is  time  for  evensong  he  makes  a 
loud  noise  by  spanking  some  young  novice  ;  and  the  monks, 
hearing  the  sound,  come  gleefully  back.  They  merrily  join 
in  the  spanking,  and  then  go  meekly  in  for  their  evening 
service  and  their  evening  drink. 

There  are  other  occupations  in  this  abbey,  of  a  more 
degraded  nature.     Whoever  proves   himself  best   adapted 

1  like.  2  branches.  ^  Elijah.  *  sorrowfully.  ^  they.  <•  dwell. 
"  trouble.         ^  toil. 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLLSII    I'ERlOD  89 

to  the  life,  and  devotes  himself  with  most  singleness  of 
purpose  to  fleshly  enjoyments,  will  eventually  rise  to  be 
the  father  abbot. 

The  man  who  wants  to  reach  this  blissful  land  must 
first  do  a  long  penance ;  he  must  wallow  for  seven  years  in 
the  filth  of  a  pig-sty,  buried  up  to  the  chin.  So  shall  he 
earn  his  passage. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  all  these  poems  were 
written  in  the  romantic  period  ;  yet  their  authors'  atti- 
tude towards  life  is  diametrically  opposite  to  that  of  the 
romancers.  Love,  instead  of  being  a  kind  of  idolatry,  is 
a  game  played  with  false  cards.  Saintliness  is  all  hum- 
bug, and  hoi}-  men  are  rascals.  W'omen  are  harmless 
only  if  they  are  stupid  ;  generally  they  are  clever,  deceit- 
ful creatures,  unworthy  of  confidence  and  incapable  of 
constancy,  and  men  are  their  dupes. 

All  this  is  expressed  not  in  bitterness,  but  with  the 
gay  good-humor  of  a  man  who  has  too  little  sensibility 
to  be  a  cynic.  Most  of  the  fabliaux  are  hardly  satirical 
at  all  in  intent.  In  Dame  Siriz,  for  example,  the  author 
gives  us  in  effect  a  trenchant  satire  upon  some  of  the 
things  that  were  sacred  to  the  romancers  ;  but  his  pur- 
pose was  doubtless  merely  to  tell  an  amusing  story, 
presenting  life  as  he  saw  it.  The  satire  in  TJie  Vox 
and  tJic  J Vo/f  is  equally  unconscious.  In  T/ic  Land  of 
Cokaygne  there  is  of  course  a  deliberate  intent  to  satirize 
the  regular  clergy,  and  the  utter  lack  of  spirituality  in 
much  of  what  passed  for  religion  ;  but  (except  perhaps 
in  the  last  lines  of  the  poem)  we  see  little  evidence  of 
any  strength  of  feeling.  Whatever  is,  is  ;  so  let  us 
laugh  and  be  merry  at  everything. 


90  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

The  difference  in  spirit  between  these  poems  and  the 
romances  is  easy  to  explain.  The  fabliaux  were  com- 
monly composed  for  the  middle  classes  - —  the  bourgeois 
element.  Political  and  economic  causes  were,  in  the 
thirteenth  centur}-,  bringing  these  people  forward  to  a 
more  active  j^articipation  in  affairs  ;  and  they  had  to 
have  their  literature,  too.  In  the  hall  of  the  baron  the 
romancer  chanted  his  romance  ;  but  the  master-carpen- 
ter, loafing  at  the  ale-house,  would  prefer  to  hear  a 
fabliau  recited,  and  some  twopenny  jongleur  would 
always  be  ready  to  gi'atify  him.  The  fabliaux  were  cer- 
tainly not  above  the  average  level  of  mediaeval  sentiment 
and  morality  ;  the}'  probably  bore  about  the  same  rela- 
tion to  life  as  the  comic  songs  of  our  own  variety  stage, 
and  they  must  not  be  taken  too  seriously  as  a  revelation 
of  contemporary  feeling.  But  their  existence,  side  by 
side  with  the  romances  of  chi\'alry,  strengthens  the  argu- 
ment that  the  latter,  in  their  semi-deification  of  love  and 
their  seemingly  reverential  attitude  towards  woman,  were 
little  more  than  a  caprice  of  fashion  ;  that  instead  of 
presenting  seriously  the  attitude  of  serious  men  toward 
life,  they  were  in  this  respect  merely  a  literary  artifice. 

A  glimpse  is  given  in  these  poems  of  the  darker  side 
of  mediaeval  religion.  Before  the  period  that  we  have 
reached,  monasticism  had  gone  into  a  lamentable  deca- 
dence. It  was  a  natural  result  of  the  attractiveness  of 
monastery  life  that  many  men  dedicated  themselves  to 
it  with  motives  not  primarily  religious.  Partly  for  this 
reason,  and  partly  because  of  a  tendency  of  human  na- 
ture which  seems  inevitable,  when  responsibility  and 
competition  are  removed,  monastic  austerity  too  often 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLISH    PERIOD  9I 

yielded  place  to  monastic  luxury,  continence  to  corrup- 
tion, altruism  to  rapacity.  Of  course  no  s\vecpin<;  con- 
demnation must  be  passed  upon  all  the  monasteries  of 
the  period.  New  orders  were  continually  founded,  with 
new  rules  of  self-denial  and  holiness  ;  scores  of  them 
are  known  to  history  ;  but  the  chief  cause  of  the  great 
number  of  new  foundations  was  the  short-lived  purity 
of  many  of  the  old  ones.  Moreover,  the  secular  clergy 
(i.e.,  the  clergy  not  attached  to  religious  establishments, 
as  were  the  monks,  friars,  etc.)  shared  to  a  great  extent 
in  the  corruptions  of  the  regular  brethren.  In  the  later 
middle  ages  the  parish  priest  becomes  a  target  for  satire 
as  well  as  the  monk  —  the  bishop  only  less  often  than 
the  abbot. 

32.  Richard  Rolle  of  Hampole.  —  Richard  Rolle  was  born 
at  Thornton,  in  Yorkshire,  near  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  died  in  the  year  1349  at  Hampole,  near 
Doncaster.  He  was  educated  at  O.xford,  but  at  the  age 
of  nineteen  left  the  university  and  his  home  to  assume 
the  garb  and  manner  of  a  hermit.  His  life  thereafter 
was  partly  that  of  a  recluse  and  partly  that  of  a  wander- 
ing preacher,  as  the  spirit  moved  him.  In  his  solitary 
cell  he  fasted  and  prayed,  and  wrote  voluminous  works 
in  prose  and  verse.  In  his  other  capacity  he  was  one  of 
the  most  influential  men  of  the  time.  He  had  a  power 
over  others  which  his  words  alone  do  not  account  for. 
He  was  evidently  a  holy  man,  —  not  one  of  the  sham 
religious  tramps  so  common  in  the  fourteenth  century, — 
and  his  eloquence  was  abetted  by  the  power  of  a  strong 
and  pure  personality.  He  was  reputed  to  have  the  power 
of  performing  miracles,  and  it  is  clear  that  he  believed 


92  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

himself  to  have  it.  He  had  an  active  mind,  but  not  a 
speculative  one.  Consequently  we  find  him  one  of  the 
strongest  exponents  of  mediaeval  Catholicism.  He  ac- 
cepted the  doctrines  of  the  church  without  question,  and 
preached  them  with  vigor  ;  and  in  his  long  poem,  The 
Prickc  of  Consciefice,  we  can  see  the  faith  of  the  middle 
ages  in  its  purest  form.  The  following  extracts  are 
selected  less  for  their  doctrinal  interest  than  as  illustra- 
tions of  the  practical  working"  of  mediaeval  religion  in  the 
mediaeval  mind. 

(  The  beginnitig  of  man's  lif.) 

[When  man]  was  born  til  ^  ]'is  werldys  light 
465    He  ne  had  nouther  strenthe  ne  myght, 

Nouther  to  ga  -  ne  yhit  to  stand, 

Ne  to  crepe  with  fete,  ne  with  hand. 

pan  has  a  man  less  myght  l>an  a  beste 

When  he  is  born,  and  is  sene  leste : 
470    For  a  best  when  it  es  born,  may  ga 

Als-tite  ^  aftir,  and  ryn  to  and  fra ; 

Bot  a  man  has  na  *  myght  ])ar-to, 

When  he  es  born,  swa  ^  to  do  ; 

For  I'an  may  he  noght  stande  ne  crepe 
,475    Bot  ligge*^  and  sprawel,  and  cry  and  wepe. 

For  unnethes  '  es  a  child  born  fully 

pat  it  ne  bygynnes  to  goule  and  cry ; 

And  by  ]iat  cry  men  knaw  j^an 

Whether  it  be  man  or  weman, 
480    For  when  it  es  born  it  cryes  swa  * : 

If  it  be  man  it  says  "a.  a," 

pat  ]'e  first  letter  es  of  )ie  nam 

Of  our  forme-fader  Adam. 

1  to.         -  go,  walk.         3  straightway.         *  no.         *  so.         ''  lie. 
"  hardly.  ^  so. 


THE    KARLN'    MIDDLE    EN(;EISII    PERIOD  93 

And  if  j'e  child  a  woman  be, 
485    When  it  es  born  it  says  "  e.  e." 
E  es  ))e  first  letter  and  )'e  hede 
Of  I'e  name  of  Eve  |>at  bygan  our  dede.' 
parfor  a  clerk  made  on  |)is  manere 
pis  vers  of  metre  pat  es  wreten  here : 

He  says,  "  al  er  we  born  gretand,^ 
And  makand^  a  sorowful  sembland, 
For  to  shew  ]'e  grete  wrechednes 
505    Of  our  kynd  )>at  in  us  es." 


{^The  nature  of  the  mature  7nan.') 

pe  bygynnyng  of  man,  als  ■*  I  talde, 
Es  vile  and  wreched  to  behalde ; 
Bot  how  foule  es  man  aftir-warde 
Tels  I'us,  openly,  saynt  Bernarde : 

560    Homo  nihil  aliud  est,  quam  sperina 

fcfidutn,  saccus  stercorufu  et  esca  vermimn. 
Saynt  Bernard  says  als  pe  buke  telles, 
pat  "man  here  es  nathyng  elles 
Bot  a  foule  slyme,  wlatsome  *  til  men, 

565    And  a  sekful  ^  of  stynkand  fen,'' 

And  wormes  fode  "  pat  pai  wald  have. 
When  he  es  dede  and  layde  in  grave. 
Bot  som  men  and  women  fayre  semes 
To  pe  syght  with-outen,  als  men  demes, 

570    And  pat  shewes  noght  elles  bot  a  skyn  ; 
Bot  wha-swa  moght  se  pam  with-in, 
Fouler  carion  moght  never  be 
pan  he  suld  pan  of  pam  se. 
parfor  he  pat  had  als  sharp  syght. 


1»c 


1  death.  -  weeping.  ^  making.  *  as.  ^  loathsome. 

6  sackful.         ■'  dirt. 


94  EARLY  en(;lisii  literature 

575    And  cler  eghen  ^  and  als  bright 

Als  has  a  best  )'at  men  Lynx  calles, 
pat  may  se  thurgh  thik  stane  walles, 
Littel  lykyng  suld  a  man  haf  |'an 
For  to  behald  a  faire  woman, 

5S0    For  pan  mught  he  se,  with-outen  doute, 
Als  wele  with-in  als  with-oute. 
And  if  he  with-in  saw  hir  right, 
Sho  ^  war  ful  wlatsom  til  his  sight ; 
pus  foul  with-in  ilk  '  man  es, 

5S5    Als  I'e  buk  says  and  bers  witnes. 

(^The  certainty  of  death  ^ 

880    For  in  )'is  world  es  nane  swa  witty, 
Sua  fair,  swa  Strang,  ne  swa  myghty, 
Emperour,  kyng,  duke,  ne  caysere, 
Ne  other  ]>at  bers  grete  state  here, 
Ne  riche,  ne  pure,  bond  ne  fre, 

885    Lered^  or  lawed,^  what-swa  he  be, 
pat  he  ne  sal  turne  at  )'e  last  oway. 
Til  poudre  and  erthe  and  vyle  clay ; 
And  wormes  sal  ryve  hym  in  sondre ; 
And  )'arfor  haf  I  mykel  ^  wondere 

890    J)at  unnethes'  any  man  wille  se 
What  he  was,  and  what  he  sal  be. 
Bot  wha-so  wald  in  hert  cast 
What  he  was,  and  sal  be  at  pe.last, 
And  what  he  es,  whyles  he  lyves  here, 

895    He  suld  fynd  ful  litel  matere 

To  mak  ioy  whilles  he  here  duelles, 

Als  a  versifiour  in  metre  ]ms  telles : 

Si  quis  se/itiret,  quo  tendit,  et  iinde  vcniret, 

Nunquam  gauderet,  sed  in  onine  tempore  JJeret. 

^  eyes.  -she.  ^  each.  ■*  learned.  ^  lewd,  ignorant. 

•*  much,  great.         "  hardly. 


TlIK    KARLV    MIDDLE    KN(;LISII    1'P:RI0D  95 

900  He  says,  "wha-so  wille  fele  and  se, 
Wethen  he  com  and  whider  sal  he, 
Suld  never  be  blythe  hot  ioy  forsake, 
And  alle  tyme  grete  ^  and  sorow  make." 
Whar-to  pan  es  man  here  swa  myry, 

905  And  swa  tendre  of  his  vile  body, 

pat  sal  rote  and  with  wormes  be  gnawen. 
And  swa  ugly  to  syght  may  be  knawen  ? 


(^The  pains  of  death.) 

pus  sal  dede  visite  ilk  man, 
And  yhit  na  man  discryve  ^  it  can. 
For  here  lyves  nan, "  under  hevenryke,* 
pat  can  telle  til  what  pe  ded  es  lyke. 

1900  Bot  l;e  payn  of  dede  |'at  al  sal  fele 
A  philosopher  jais  discrived  wele ; 
For  he  lykend  mans  lyf  til  a  tre 
pat  war  growand,^  if  it  swa  mught  be, 
Thurgh  a  mans  hert  and  swa  shuld  sprynge, 

1905  pat  obout  war  lapped  with  j)e  hert  strynge, 

And  |;e  croppe "  out  at  his  mouth  mught  shote, 
And  to  ilka  ioynt  war  fested  a  rote  ; 
And  ilka  vayne  of  );e  mans  body 
Had  a  rote  festend  fast  })arby, 

1910  And  in  ilka  taa  and  fynger  of  hand 
War  a  rote  fra  ))at  tre  growand  ; 
And  ilka  lym  oti  ilka  syde 
With  rotes  of  pat  tre  war  occupyde ; 
Yf  pat  tre  war  tite '  pulled  cute 

191 5  At  a  titte  **  with  al  ]>&  rotes  oboute, 
pe  rotes  suld  pan  rayse  ))ar-with 
Ilka  vayn  and  ilka  synoghe  and  lith.^ 

'  weep.     -  describe.     ^  none.     *  the  kingdom  of  heaven.     ^  growing. 
"^  top.         "  suddenly.         ^  on  a  sudden.         ^  limb. 


96  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

A  mare  ^  payne  couthe  *  na  man  in  hert  cast 
pan  jus  war,  als  lang  als  it  suld  last. 
1920  And  yhit  halde  I  )e  payne  of  dede  mare 

And  mare  Strang  and  hard,  )'an  )'is  payn  ware. 

2220  For  when  ]'e  lyf  sal  pas  fra  a  man 
Devels  sal  gadir  obout  hym  jan, 
To  ravissche  )'e  saul  with  jiam  away 
Tyl  pyne  of  helle,  if  |'ai  may. 
Als  wode  ^  lyons  |'ai  sal  |'an  fare 

2225  And  raumpe  on  hym,  and  skoul,  and  stare, 
And  grymly  gryn  on  hym  and  blere,* 
And  hydus  braydes  ^  male,  hym  to  fere  ;*' 
pai  sal  fande  "  at  his  last  endyng 
Hym  in-to  wanhope*  for  to  bring, 

2230  Thurgh  thretynges  ]'at  ]'ai  sal  mak, 

And  thurgh  )ie  ferdnes  '■*  j'at  he  sal  tak. 
Ful  hydus  sightes  ]>ai  sal  shew  hym 
pat  his  chere  ^'^  sal  make  grisly  and  grim. 
pat  sight  he  sal  se  with  gastly  eghe  " 

2235  With  payn  of  dede  )'at  he  most  dreghe.'- 


{The pains  of  hell ^ 

I  fynde  wry  ten  paynes  fourtene, 
Thurgh  whilk ''  ])e  synful  sal  be  pyned  ay. 
In  body  and  saul  aftir  domesday  ; 
6555  pe  whilk  er  als  general  paynes  of  helle, 
And  whilk  )'as  er  I  sal  yhow  telle. 
pe  first  es  fire  swa  hate  "  to  reken 
pat  na  maner  of  thyng  may  it  sleken.'^ 

^  greater.  -  could.  ■'  mad.  ■*  leer.  ^  grimaces.  ''  terrify, 
"try.  ^despair.  ^fright.  ^'^  countenance.  ^^  eye.  i- endure. 
*^  which.  1*  hot.  1*  quench. 


THE    EARLY    MIDDLE    ENGLISH    PERIOD  97 

\)e  secunde  es  calde  als  says  som, 
6560  pat  na  hete  of  fire  may  overcom. 

pe  thred  alswa  es  filthe  and  stynk 

pat  es  stranger  )'an  any  hert  may  thynk. 

pe  ferthe  es  hunger  sharpe  and  Strang. 

pe  fift  es  brynnand  threst  omang.^ 
6565  pe  sext  es  swa  mykel  myrknes,* 

pat  it  may  be  graped,  swa  thik  it  es. 

pe  sevend  es  pe  horribel  sight 

Of  I'e  devels  pat  par  er  hydusly  dight. 

pe  eghtend  payne  es  vermyn  grete, 
6570  pat  pe  synful  men  sal  gnaw  and  frete." 

pe  neghend  es  dyngyng  *  of  devels  hand, 

With  melles  '  of  yren  hate  glowand. 

pe  tend  payne  es  gnawing  with-in 

Of  conscience  pat  bites  als  vermyn. 
6575  pe  ellevend  es  hate  teres  of  gretyng/' 

pat  j'e  synful  sal  scalden  in  pe  dounfallyng. 

pe  twelfte  es  shame  and  shenshepe '  of  syn 

pat  pai  sal  haf  pat  never  sal  blyn.*^ 

pe  prettend  es  bandes  of  fire  brinnand, 
6580  J)at  pai  sal  be  bunden  with  fote  and  hand. 

pe  fourtend  payne  despayre  es  cald, 

pat  pe  synful  sal  ay  in  hert  hald. 

Alle  pir^  er  generale  paynes  in  helle ; 

Bot  par  er  other  ma  ))an  tung  may  telle, 
6585  Or  hert  may  thynk  or  eer  may  here, 

Of  special  paynes  pat  er  sere,'" 

pe  whilk  many,  aftir  '^  pai  er  worthy, 

Sal  thole  ^'  ever-mare  in  saule  and  body  ; 

Bot  of  alle  pa  paynes  can  I  noght  say. 

For  na  man  pam  reken  ne  specyfy  may. 

1  in  addition.      -  darkness.      ^  eat.      **  beating.      ^  mallets.      "^  weep- 
7;.         '  disgrace.         *  cease.        ^  these.         ^^  various.         ^^  according 
1-  suffer. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  AGE   OF   CHAUCER 

33.  The  Fourteenth  Century.  —  King  Edward  III  reigned 
from  1327  to  1377.  When  he  came  to  the  throne  he 
was  a  mere  boy,  helpless  in  the  hands  of  his  mother's 
favorite,  Robert  Mortimer,  and  in  the  last  }ears  of  his 
reign  he  was  a  helpless  old  man,  in  the  arms  of  his  own 
favorite,  Alice  Ferrers.  Between  those  periods,  however, 
there  were  great  days  ;  and  the  king  and  his  illustrious 
son,  the  Black  Prince,  are  among  the  most  noteworthy 
figures  in  the  history  of  English  chivalry. 

We  are  concerned  chiefly  with  the  social  history  of  Eng- 
land, but  part  of  the  great  social  development  of  the  four- 
teenth century  was  closely  connected  with  the  personal 
achievements  of  the  king  and  the  prince.  They  were  at 
war  with  France  during  the  greater  part  of  the  reign,  and 
their  victories  at  Crecy  (1346)  and  Poitiers  (1356)  were 
its  most  strikmg  single  events.  These  great  victories, 
however,  won  against  tremendous  numerical  odds,  were 
directly  due  to  developments  withm  the  English  nation. 
The  old  idea  of  chivalry,  to  which  France  still  clung,  was 
that  the  knights  did  all  the  hea\'y  fighting,  while  the 
peasantry  were  a  mere  rabble  whose  safety  or  slaughter 
was  of  little  consequence.  At  the  Battle  of  Crecy  the 
French  chivalry  encountered  the  English  yeomanry  with 
their  long-bows  and  cloth-yard  arrows,  and  could  not  get 

9S 


THE   AGE    OF   CHAUCER  99 

near  enough  to  crush  them.  At  Poitiers  King  John's 
army  of  50,000  was  utterly  routed  by  8000  men  under 
the  Black  Prince,  and  the  victory  again  was  due  to  the 
English  yeomen. 

Thus  military  causes  were  helping  the  middle  classes 
in  P2ngland  to  a  novel  prominence.  Other  forces,  too, 
were  doing  a  similar  work.  The  parliamentary  system 
had  dcxcloped  far  enough  to  bring  gentlemen  and  bur- 
gesses of  the  towns  together,  with  common  aims  and 
interests  ;  and  the  industrial  system  was  by  degrees  be- 
coming one  of  employer  and  wage-earner  instead  of  master 
and  villein.  The  villein  was  the  small  tenant  who,  in- 
stead of  paying  money  rent,  gave  a  stated  number  of 
days'  labor  to  the  tillage  of  his  master's  acres.  He  was 
not  in  theory  a  slave,  but  neither  was  he  practically  a  free 
man  ;  and  he  had  long  been  mildly  agitating  for  a  change. 
It  was  in  the  fourteenth  century  that  the  backbone  of  the 
old  system  was  broken,  and  money  wages  and  money  rents 
generally  substituted  for  the  old  conditions  of  feudal  ten- 
ure. The  Black  Death,  a  terrible  plague  which  visited 
England  about  the  middle  of  the  century,  killing  a  third, 
and  perhaps  a  half,  (jf  the  population  in  a  single  year,  was 
instrumental  in  furthering  this  development.  It  took  off 
such  a  large  proportion  of  the  laboring  classes  that  wages 
rose  to  unprecedented  figures.  Villeins  were  tempted 
to  run  away  from  the  estates  to  which  they  were  legally 
bound,  and  the  peasant  class  in  general  were  filled  with 
a  new  spirit  of  independence.  A  tragical  uprising  which 
came  in  1381  proved  futile,  but  it  was  a  symptom  of  a 
new  social  condition,  an  abortive  effort  towards  that  de- 
mocracy which  in  the  last  few  generations  has  revolution- 


rOO  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

ized  the  western  world.  The  literature  of  the  fourteenth 
century  is  filled  with  manifestations  of  the  new  spirit. 

The  religious  condition  of  England  is  also  of  great  im- 
portance in  our  study.  It  is  sometimes  supposed  that  the 
mediaeval  mind  was  touched  with  a  deep  and  peculiar 
religious  feeling.  This  belief  finds  expression  notably 
in  those  painters  and  poets  who  seek  to  revive  the  spirit 
of  mediaeval  religion.  That  sjnrit,  they  say,  was  a  passion- 
ate and  beautiful  mysticism  :  the  Deity  was  then  more 
vividly  realized  than  now,  as  a  living  presence  in  the 
human  soul ;  and  in  spiritual  communion  with  Him,  there 
was  an  ecstasy  of  emotion  which  this  harder  age  cannot 
feel.  Yet  it  is  doubtful  if  this  assumed  intensity  of  feeling 
was  really  commoner  in  the  middle  ages  than  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Distance  has  lent  to  mediaeval  things  an 
enchantment  not  wholly  proper  to  them.  Mediaeval  reli- 
gion was  half  inherited  from  pagan  creeds,  and  was  dis- 
tinguished by  a  vivid  anthropomorphism  :  to  the  common 
mind,  God  and  Christ  were  primarily  men  of  preternatural 
powers,  but  with  human  emotions,  form  and  speech  ;  and 
whatever  we  find  of  peculiar  intensity  in  the  common 
religious  conceptions  of  the  time  is  often  due  to  the  com- 
parative ease  with  which  these  matter-of-fact  persons 
were  realized  by  the  imagination.  In  the  spiritual-minded 
this  kind  of  belief  took  on  a  spiritual  coloring,  as  we  have 
seen,  but  in  the  majority  there  was  little  spirituality,  and 
their  religion  was  as  gross  as  it  was  vivid.  Asceticism,  at 
best,  was  not  the  practice  of  the  whole  mediaeval  world, 
but  only  the  ideal  of  a  small  part  of  it. 

The  corruptness  of  the  clergy  has  already  been  men- 
tioned.     The  main  reason  for  England's  lontr  toleration 


THK    AGE    OF   CHAUCER  lOI 

of  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  clergy's  enormous  power.  The 
more  fundamental  reason,  however,  and  indeed  the  secret 
of  this  very  power,  is  to  be  found  in  the  too  common 
conception  of  religion  as  a  mere  discipline  by  pains  and 
penalties.  In  the  clergy  was  vested  the  power  to  forgive 
sins  and  to  remit  the  penalties  of  the  hereafter.  The 
sinner  who  confessed  was  bidden  to  do  a  certain  penance, 
as  the  condition  of  receiving  absolution  ;  the  sinner  who 
stayed  away  from  confessional  was  haled  before  the  eccle- 
siastical court  and  sentenced  to  a  worse  penance.  The 
penance  might  be  a  fast,  or  a  pilgrimage,  or  any  one  of 
countless  methods  of  expiation  ;  but  the  commands  of 
the  church  must  be  obeyed  to  the  letter,  or  terrible  tor- 
ments were  the  doom  of  the  offender.  If  the  church  had 
confined  this  discipline  to  cases  of  vice  and  crime,  there 
would  have  been  far  less  cause  for  complaint,  but  it  did 
not.  The  enemies  of  the  church,  and  sometimes  the 
enemies  of  its  ministers,  were  treated  as  the  enemies  of 
God,  and  the  church's  most  terrible  weapon,  excommu- 
nication, was  hurled  at  them.  The  mere  possession  of 
this  weapon  was  a  constant  temptation  to  the  clergy  to 
foster  the  popular  conception  of  the  Deity  as  a  God  of 
Wrath  ;  and  this  conception  (as  has  been  dimly  seen  in 
the  extracts  already  read)  needed  no  fostering.  It  was 
partly  this  view  of  religion  that  gave  the  church  its  first 
firm  grip  upon  English  life,  and  though  in  the  fourteenth 
century  the  church  had  ceased  to  command  universal  (or 
perhaps  even  general)  respect,  it  was  too  late  to  shake  it  off. 
The  foregoing  is  not  intended  as  a  full  and  fair  descrip- 
tion of  the  mediaeval  English  Church.  That  church  taught 
the  gospel  of  Love  as  well  as  that  of  Wrath  ;   and  even 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

<;A\'rA  BARB.\RA 


I02  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

with  the  latter  it  did  much  good  to  individuals,  as  well 
as  much  harm,  for  it  used  its  power  in  a  turbulent  age 
to  protect  the  weak  against  the  strong,  and  to  save. the 
\ici()us  from  themselves.  But  the  church's  abuses  of  its 
jiower  made  more  impression  ui)on  the  literature  of  the 
fourteenth  century  than  did  its  legitimate  influence,  and 
the  darker  side  of  the  story  is  therefore  of  more  present 
significance  to  us.  It  should,  moreover,  be  especially 
studied  by  those  who  think  of  mediaeval  religion  as  only 
a  pure  and  beautiful  mysticism,  and  by  those  who  pessi- 
mistically bewail  the  loss  of  spirituality  in  the  modern 
world. 

Resentment  and  revolt  against  the  abuses  of  the  church 
came  to  a  head  in  Wyclif.  He  was  an  eminent  Oxford 
scholar  and  theologian,  for  a  time  Master  of  Balliol  Col- 
lege, and  a  center  of  the  university's  intellectual  influence. 
In  1382,  however,  when  he  was  past  sixty  years  of  age, 
he  w'as  expelled  from  the  university  because  of  his  heret- 
ical teachings.  He  had  attacked  the  greed  of  the  church, 
advocating  its  disendowment  (with  extensive  confiscation 
of  its  property)  ;  then  he  had  assailed  the  several  orders 
of  friars,  on  account  of  their  notorious  corruptions  ;  and 
finally  he  had  in  effect  declared  open  war  upon  the  church 
by  avowing  and  inculcating  disbelief  in  the  doctrine  of 
transubstantiation,  {i.e.,  the  doctrine  that  the  bread  and 
wine  used  in  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  are 
actually  transformed  into  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ, 
only  the  appearance  of  the  original  elements  remaining). 
An  attack  upon  this  cardinal  belief  of  the  church  was 
not  merely  a  doctrinal  dispute  ;  it  was  a  matter  of  vital 
consequence,  for  the  clergy  knew  that  much  of  their  power 


THE   AGE    OF   CHAUCER  IO3 

was  due  to  the  people's  belief  in  their  ability  to  perform 
this  daily  miracle  ;  and  apart  from  that,  the  belief  itself 
has  a  mystical  charm  for  those  who  cherish  it,  so  that  an 
attack  upon  it  is  felt  as  a  peculiarly  impious  sacrilege. 

Wyclif's  followers,  who  were  known  as  Lollards,  were 
active  for  a  generation  or  more  after  their  master's  death 
(1384),  and  they  never  were  altogether  suppressed  ;  their 
agitation  continued  fitfully  until  it  was  merged  in  the 
greater  Protestant  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
They  were  regarded  as  dangerous  enemies  of  the  nation, 
and  many  of  them  died  the  heretic's  death  at  the  stake. 
Gowned  in  long  russet  robes,  their  preachers  wandered 
from  town  to  town,  finding  audiences  where  they  could, 
and  spreading  their  doctrine  in  the  face  of  threats  and 
insults.  Wyclif  himself  had  been  on  some  subjects  a 
fanatic,  whose  opinions  shock  our  judgment  as  often  as 
they  accord  with  it,  and  his  followers  inherited  his  fanati- 
cism without  his  great  intelligence  ;  but  there  was  much 
in  them  to  admire.  In  holding  that  the  rules  of  faith 
should  be  sought  chiefly  in  the  Bible  (parts  of  which,  if 
not  all,  Wyclif  himself  translated),  and  that  clean  living 
was  worth  more  than  ceremonies  or  sacraments,  they 
were  anticipating  the  great  Reformation,  and  the  opinion 
of  the  modern  Protestant  world. 

34.  The  Alliterative  Poems.  —  The  principal  poets  of  the 
latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  century  may  be  roughly 
divided  into  two  classes,  the  East  and  West  Midland 
schools.  The  former,  under  the  influence  of  court  or 
university  training,  and  by  imitation  of  foreign  models, 
attained  a  much  higher  proficiency  in  the  poetic  art  than 
any   of  their   English   predecessors.      Indeed   Chaucer, 


I04  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

who  was  a  London  man,  is  felt  to  be  almost  a  modem 
poet.  The  West  Midland  men,  on  the  other  hand,  liv- 
ing in  a  district  where  the  English  spirit  had  received 
less  of  the  French  leaven,  clung  more  to  old  forms 
and  old  ideas,  and  their  work  seems  to  us  thoroughly 
mediaeval. 

Four  poems,  commonh'  known  as  Cleanness,  Patience, 
Pearl,  and  Gawayne  and  the  Green  Knight,  have  sur- 
vived from  this  period  in  a  single  manuscript,  all  in  the 
same  handwriting  and  the  same  West  Midland  dialect. 
It  is  usually  assumed  (though  not  yet  proved)  that  all 
are  by  the  same  author,  but  who  or  what  that  author  was 
we  can  only  guess.  All  except  Pearl  are  in  the  Old 
English  metre,  with  the  Old  English  system  of  alliter- 
ation, although  Gawayne  and  the  Green  Knight  makes 
some  use  of  rime.  Pearl  is  rimed  throughout,  and  its 
metre  is  of  a  smoother  and  finer  kind,  as  a  specimen 
will  show.  The  author  has  retained  the  essential  princi- 
ples of  the  older  verse,  but  was  apparently  experiment- 
ing with  it. 

Cleanness  is  a  didactic  poem  of  1812  lines.  By  means 
of  a  number  of  stories  from  the  Old  Testament,  such  as 
those  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  Belshazzar,  and  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, it  shows  the  advantages  of  clean  living  and 
the  fatal  consequences  of  uncleanness.  The  following 
excerpts  from  the  story  of  the  flood  (modernized)  will 
show  something  of  the  character  of  the  original : 

But  then  evils  on  earth  ever  increased 

And  multiplied  manifold  amongst  mankind. 

For  the  powerful  people  oppressed  the  weaker. 

So  that  the  Man  that  made  all  was  mightily  enraged. 


THE    AGE    OF    CHAUCER  IO5 

When  he  knew  each  country  corrupt  in  itself, 

And  the  people  strayed  from  the  paths  of  right, 

Fell  tempting  anger  touched  his  heart. 

Sorrowing  like  a  man,  he  said  these  words  : 

"  I  regret  full  much  that  ever  I  made  man ; 

But  I  shall  deliver  and  do  away  the  dotards  on  earth. 

And  banish  from  my  creation  all  creatures  of  flesh, 

Both  bird  and  fish  and  beast  and  man  ; 

All  shall  down  and  be  dead,  and  driven  from  the  earth, 

That  ever  I  set  soul  in  ;  and  sorely  it  rues  me 

That  ever  I  made  them  ;  but  if  I  may,  hereafter 

I  shall  watch  and  be  wary  their  wickedness  to  stop." 


(Accordingly  the  deluge  is  determined  on,  and  Noah  is 
warned  to  build  a  "  chest.") 

"Now,  Noah,"  quoth  our  Lord,  "are  you  all  ready? 
Have  you  stopped  all  the  chinks  in  your  chest  with  clay  ?  " 
"Yes,  Lord,  by  your  leave,"  said  the  man  then  ; 
"All  is  wrought  after  your  word,  as  you  lent  me  wit." 
"Enter  in  then,"  quoth  He,  "and  take  your  wife  with  you, 
And  your  thrifty  sons  and  their  wives  all  three." 

It  hardly  need  be  pointed  out  that  this  is  not  in  the 
spirit  of  modern  religious  feeling.  The  poem  is,  of  course, 
profoundly  reverential  in  intent,  but  the  reverence  is  of 
the  sort  that  might  have  been  paid  to  a  feudal  superior,^ 
not  to  the  Supreme  Being  of  a  spiritual  religion. 

The  highest  mountains  over  the  moor  were  dry  then  no  more, 
But  thereon  flocked  the  folk,  for  fear  of  the  Vengeance. 
The  wild  of  the  forest  floated  on  the  watfer. 
Some  swam  thereon,  that  thought  to  save  themselves. 

^  In  Patience,  line  51,  the  Deity  is  called  "my  lege  lorde." 


I06  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Some  struggled  to  the  heights,  —  stared  up  to  heaven, 

And  ruefully  with  loud  voice  roared  aloud  for  dread. 

Hares,  harts  also,  run  to  the  heights; 

liucks,  badgers  and  bulls  hastened  to  the  banks, 

And  all  cried  for  care  to  the  King  of  heaven. 

For  succor  from  the  Creator  they  cried,  each  one ; 

15ut  that  helped  not  the  misery,  for  his  mercy  was  passed, 

And  all  his  pity  departed,  from  the  people  that  he  hated. 

By  that  time  to  their  feet  the  flood  flowed  and  waxed : 

Fhen  each  man  saw  well  that  he  needs  must  sink. 

Friends  embraced  and  fell  upon  each  other, 

To  endure  their  doleful  destiny  and  die  all  together. 

Lover  looks  on  beloved,  and  taketh  his  leave, 

To  end  all  at  once,  and  for  ever  to  part. 

Patie7ice  is  very  much  like  Cleanness,  enforcing  an 
appropriate  moral  by  the  story  of  Jonah,  but  it  la}s  pro- 
portionally a  little  less  stress  on  God's  anger  and  a  little 
more  on  his  merc)'.  Gaivayne  and  the  Green  KnigJit 
has  already  been  mentioned  as  one  of  the  best  of  the 
Arthurian  romances  ;  but  it  differs  from  most  poems 
of  its  class  in  being  profoundly  moral  in  spirit  and  in 
piu'pose.  The  difficulties  that  Gawayne  encoimters  are 
temptations  rather  than  dangers,  and  the  reader  is  led 
to  admire  him  more  for  his  integrity  than  for  his  prowess. 
With  some  humor,  and  some  elements  of  pathos,  and  an 
admirable  vividness  of  natural  description,  it  is  altogether 
a  delightful  poem  ;  but,  unfortunately,  the  great  number 
of  obsolete  words  in  its  vocabulary  put  it  beyond  the 
reach  of  most  modem  readers. 

Pearl  is  a  touching  lament  over  the  loss  of  a  child, 
probably  the  poet's  infant  daughter.  It  is  largely  alle- 
gorical.    The  poet  tells  that  he  was  once  the  possessor 


THE    AGE    OF    CHAUCER  IO7 

of  a  pearl  of  surpassing:  beauty,  but  he  lost  it  in  the  green 
grass  in  a  lovely  arb(jr.  (3ne  clay,  when  he  had  gone  to 
the  arbor  to  bewail  the  loss  of  his  "pearl,"  and  was  lying 
on  the  grass  where  it  was  buried,  he  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  that  he  saw  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  His  pearl 
was  there,  in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  maiden,  and  she 
told  him  of  her  happy  state,  comforted  him  in  his  afflic- 
tion, and  explained  to  him  some  of  the  problems  that 
had  perplexed  his  mind.  The  religious  spirit  of  the 
poem  is  markedly  different  from  that  of  Clcaiincs.s  and 
Patience.  In  Pearl  we  really  find  some  of  the  beautiful 
spirituality  for  which  we  search  so  much  of  mediaeval 
literature  in  vain.  The  river  of  life,  the  crystal  battle- 
ments of  hea\'en,  and  the  brilliant  gems  that  adorn  them 
impress  us  not  as  the  vagaries  of  a  materialistic  fancy, 
but  rather  as  the  mystic  symbols  of  faith  and  love. 
The  Deity  is  a  great  king,  but  he  reigns  in  a  spiritual 
kingdom,  and  we  are  told  to  love  him  for  his  mercy, 
not  merely  to  fear  him  for  his  wrath.  The  maiden 
says,  for  example  : 

In  Jerusalem  was  my  Bridegroom  slain. 

And  rent  on  the  rood  by  ruffians  bold. 

All  our  bales  to  bear  full  fain, 

He  took  on  himself  our  sorrows  cold. 

His  face  was  all  with  buffets  flayn, 

That  was  so  lovely  to  behold  ;  — 

Sinless  himself,  he  suffered  pain 

For  the  sins  of  us,  the  sheep  of  his  fold. 

For  us  he  let  himself  be  sold. 

And  nailed  upon  a  rough-hewn  beam  ; 

As  meek  as  a  lamb  that  no  plaint  told, 

For  us  he  died  in  Jerusalem. 


108  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

By  quoting  other  passages  it  might  be  shown  that  this 
poem  is  as  superior  to  the  others  in  artistic  fehcity  as  it 
is  different  in  religious  spirit.  It  would  obviously  be 
possible  to  argue  that  Pearl  and  Cleanness  could  not 
have  been  written  by  the  same  author.  They  were 
certainly  not  written  in  the  same  mood  ;  but  perhaps 
the  difference  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  one 
was  a  deliberate  effort  to  teach  certain  practical  truths, 
while  the  other  was  inspired  by  a  grievous  sense  of 
personal  loss. 

35.  Piers  Plowman.  —  The  most  remarkable  production 
of  what  we  have  called  the  West  Midland  school  was 
written  by  a  man  to  whom  tradition  gives  the  name  of 
William  Langland.  He  is  supposed  to  have  been  born 
at  Cleobury  Mortimer,  in  Shropshire,  about  the  year 
1332,  and  to  have  received  the  education  of  a  "clerk" 
in  some  western  monastery,  perhaps  the  one  at  Great 
Malvern  in  Worcestershire.  From  his  poem  we  know 
that  he  wore  the  clerical  tonsure  and  garb,  that  he  was 
a  gaunt,  stern-featured  man,  much  given  to  melancholy 
musings,  and  that  he  was  extremely  poor.  His  poem  is 
an  elaborate  allegory,  giving  a  detailed  picture  of  the  life 
of  the  author's  time,  and  an  eloquent  denunciation  of  its 
sins.  The  following  extracts  are  modernized,  but  are 
intended  to  reproduce  the  spirit  of  the  original  as  fairly 
as  possible. 

(^Prologue. ) 

In  a  summer  season,  when  soft  was  the  sunshine, 
I  dressed  myself  coarsely  in  shepherd's  clothes, 
In  habit  of  a  hermit,  unholy  of  works, 
And  w'ent  wide  in  this  world,  wonders  to  hear. 


THE    AGE    OF    CHAUCP:R  IO9 

But  on  a  May  morning,  on  Malvern  Hills, 

There  befel  a  strange  chance, — enchantment  I  thought  it ;  — 

I  was  weary  of  wandering,  and  went  me  to  rest 

Under  a  broad  bank,  by  a  burn's  side ; 

And  as  I  lay  and  leaned,  and  looked  in  the  waters, 

I  slumbered  in  a  sleeping,  it  sounded  so  pleasantly. 

Then  came  to  my  mind  a  marv-elous  vision, 

That  I  was  in  a  wilderness,  wist  I  never  where. 

As  I  looked  into  the  East,  on  high  to  the  sun, 

I  saw  a  tower  on  the  top  of  a  hill. 

With  a  deep  dale  beneath,  and  a  dungeon  therein 

With  deep  ditches  and  dark,  and  dreadful  of   sight. 

A  fair  field  full  of  folk  found  I  there  between, 

Of  all  manner  of  men,  the  mean  and  the  rich. 

Working  and  wandering  as  the  world  requires. 


I  saw  pilgrims  and  palmers,  pledging  themselves 

To  seek  Saint  James  and  saints  at  Rome. 

They  went  forth  on  their  way  with  many  wise  tales, 

And  got  leave  to  lie,  all  their  lives  thereafter. 

I  saw  some  that  said  they  had  sought  saints : 

To  each  tale  that  they  told,  their  tongue  was  tempered  to 

lie. 
More  than  to  tell  truth,  (so  it  seemed  by  their  speech). 
Hordes  of  hermits,  with  hooked  staves. 
Went  to  Walsingham  ^  with  their  wenches  following  them  ; 
Long-legged  lubbers,  that  loth  were  to  work. 
Clothed  themselves  in  copes,  to  be  known  from  other  men, 
And  made  themselves  hermits,  so  as  to  have  their  ease. 
I  found  there  friars,  all  the  four  orders. 
Preaching  to  the  people  for  their  own  profit. 
Closing  the  Cospel  as  they  thought  good. 


1  A  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  in  Norfolk,  much  visited  by  pilgrims. 


I  rO  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATUKK 

There  preached  a  pardoner,'  as  if  he  were  a  priest; 

He  brought  out  a  bull,  sealed  by  the  bishop, 

And  said  that  he  himself  could  absolve  them  all 

From  violations  of  fast-days,  or  breaches  of  vows. 

The  ignorant  believed  him,  and  liked  his  words  well, 

And  came  up  all  kneeling  to  kiss  his  bulls  ; 

He  duped  them  with  his  indulgences,  and  dimmed  their 

eyes. 
And  reached  out  with  his   documents  for  their  rings  and 

brooches ; 
And  thus  they  gave  their  gold  to  keep  gluttons  alive. 

Barons  and  burgesses  and  husbandmen  also 

I  saw  in  this  assembly,  as  ye  shall  hear, 

Baxters  and  brewsters  and  butchers  many. 

Woolen  websters  and  weavers  of  linen. 

Tailors  and  tinkers,  and  tax-collectors, 

Masons  and  miners,  and  many  other  crafts. 

Of  all  kinds  of  laborers  that  live  there  were  some, 

Such  as  diggers  and  delvers,  that  do  their  deeds  ill, 

And  dawdle  the  livelong  day,  droning  idle  songs. 

Cooks  and  their  kitchen-knaves  cried  "  hot  pies,  hot ! 

Good  pigs  and  geese ;  go  dine,  go  !  " 

Taverners  unto  them  told  the  same  story; 

"  White  wine  of  Alsace  and  red  wine  from  Gascony, 

From  the  Rhine  and  Rochelle,  to  digest  the  roast  meat." 

All  this  saw  I  sleeping,  and  seven  times  more. 

The  tower  mentioned  in  line  14  is  the  Tower  of  Truth, 
and  the  dungeon  in  the  deep  dale  is  the  Castle  of  Care. 
The  "fair  field  full  of  folk"  is  of  course  the  world,  and 
we  naturally  expect  that  the  allegory  will  be  developed 

1  Pardoners  were  persons  commissioned  by  the  church  to  sell  indul- 
gences. They  raised  money  partly  by  house-to-house  peddling,  partly 
in  the  open  air,  as  here.     The  abuses  of  this  traffic  are  notorious. 


THE    AGK    OF    CHAUCER  III 

in  narrative  form,  with  the  field  and  the  tower  and  the 
castle  for  a  scenic  background.  In  fact,  however,  as  we 
follow  the  succession  of  pictures  that  Langland  puts 
before  us,  we  lose  sight  of  these  landmarks  altogether. 
He  seems  to  have  forgotten  them  himself.  At  the  end 
of  the  Prologue,  for  example,  we  have  what  seems  to  be 
a  picture  of  a  London  street,  with  the  cooks  and  the 
tavern-keepers  at  their  doors,  touting  for  custom.  Farther 
on  in  the  poem,  some  of  the  people  get  into  a  quarrel, 
and  they  all  hurry  off  to  Westminster  to  get  the  king  to 
decide  it  ;  but  after  some  satire  upon  the  administration 
of  justice  at  the  capital,  we  are  taken  back  again  to  "  the 
field  full  of  folk."  The  people  are  suffering  much  misery 
because  of  their  sins,  but  Hope  and  Repentance  come 
and  speak  comfortingly  to  them,  and  they  all  resolve  to 
go  off  in  search  of  St.  Truth.  (It  does  not  seem  to  be 
remembered  that  he  .lives  in  the  tower  on  the  hill.) 

(^Passiis  quint  us  de  Visione.^ 

A  thousand  of  men  then  thronged  together. 

Crying  upward  to  Christ  and  his  clean  mother. 

To  let  grace  go  with  them  in  search  of  Truth. 

But  there  was  no  wight  so  wise  that  knew  the  way  thither, 

But  they  bustled  like  beasts  over  banks  and  hills, 

Till  after  long  searching  they  saw  at  last  a  man 

Appareled  as  a  palmer,  in  pilgrim's  wise. 

He  bore  a  staff,  bound  with  a  broad  band 

Wound  about  it  in  the  manner  of  woodbine. 

A  bowl  and  a  bag  he  bore  by  his  side  : 

Phials  of  holy  water  were  fastened  to  his  hat. 

Signs  of  Sinai,  and  shells  from  Galicia, 


112  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

And  many  a  cross  on  his  cloak,  and  keys  of  Rome, 

And  the  Vernicle  in  front,  that  men  might  know 

And  see  by  his  signs  what  shrines  he  had  sought. 

The  folk  asked  him  hrst  whence  he  had  come. 

"From  Sinai,"  he  said,  "and  from  Our  Lord's  sepulchre; 

In  Bethlehem  and  in  Babylon,  —  I  have  been  in  both; 

And  in  Armenia  and  Alexandria,  and  many  other  places. 

Ye  may  see  by  my  signs  that  sit  on  my  hat 

That  I  have  walked  full  wide,  in  wet  and  in  dry. 

And  sought  good  saints,  for  my  soul's  health." 

"  Canst  tell  of  a  saint  that  men  call  Truth  ? 

Couldst  thou  put  us  on  the  way  to  that  person's  dwelling  ? " 

"Nay,  so  God  help  me,"  the  holy  man  said  ; 

"  I  never  saw  palmer,  with  pike  nor  with  scrip. 

Asking  for  him  before,  till  now  in  this  place." 

Just  at  this  juncture,  Piers  the  Plowman,  who  gives 
his  name  to  the  poem,  makes  his  first  appearance.  He 
tells  the  people  that  he  knows  all  about  St.  Truth,  for 
he  has  been  his  faithful  servant  for  fifty  years  ;  and  he 
will  gladly  show  them  the  way  to  Truth's  abode,  after 
he  has  finished  his  day's  ploughing.  They  accept  his 
offer,  but  some  wrangling  which  ensues  is  so  noisy  that 
the  poet  wakes  from  his  sleep  and  the  vision  ends. 

This  is  the  poem  properly  called  The  Vision  of  William 
concerning  Piers  the  Ploivman.  Accounts  of  other  visions 
follow  it,  making  practically  a  single  poem  of  twenty-three 
cantos  ox passiis ;  and  as  the  same  character.  Piers,  appears 
in  later  visions,  the  whole  collection  is  commonly  known 
as  Piers  Plozumaii.  One  spirit  pervades  the  whole  — 
the  spirit  of  a  reformer,  bitterly  discontented  with  the 
world  as  he  sees  it,  commending  with  rough  but  passion- 
ate eloquence  his  own  peculiar  gospel  as  a  sort  of  social 


THE   AGP:    of   CHAUCER  II3 

panacea,  yet  evidently  half  hbpeless  of  the  issue  after  all. 
What  Langland's  gospel  was  is  apparent  from  the  extracts 
already  given.  The  moral  spirit  of  his  Christianity  was 
not  utterly  remote  from  that  of  the  present  time  ;  honesty 
and  industry  seem  to  be  his  cardinal  viilues  ;  and  the 
conception  of  society  that  suggested  Piers  the  Plowman 
for  the  regenerator  of  the  world  had  as  much  in  common 
with  modern  as  with  mediaeval  thought. 

There  are  many  passages  showing  Langland's  keen 
sympathy  with  the  poor.  The  following  may  well  be 
compared  with  the  legend  of  Alexis  : 

For  he  that  beggeth  or  biddeth,  unless  he  have  need, 
He  is  false  and  a  faitour,  and  defraudeth  the  needy. 
And  beguileth  the  giver,  taking  against  his  will ; 
For  he  that  giveth  for  God's  love  would  not  give  willingly 
Save  where  he  knew  great  need  of  his  giving, 
And  most  merit  in  the  men  he  is  giving  to. 
This  is  what  Cato  says,  —  "  cui  des  videto  "; 
None  knows,  I  ween,  who  is  worthy  to  have. 
The  most  needy  are  our  neighbors,  if  we  look  at  them  nar- 
rowly ; 
Such  as  prisoners  in  dungeons,  and  poor  folk  in  cottages, 
Burdened  with  children,  and  the  landlord's  charges. 
What  they  save  with  their  spinning  they  spend  in  house-hire, 
And  in  milk  and  meal  for  making  porridge, 
To  allay  their  little  ones'  longing  for  food. 
They  themselves  also  suffer  much  hunger. 
And  woe  in  the  winter-time  with  waking  a-nights 
To  rise  by  the  bed-side  and  rock  the  cradle. 
And  with  carding  and  combing  and  patching  and  washing. 
And  rubbing  and  reeling,  and  peeling  of  rushes ; 
So  that  it  is  pity  to  read,  or  to  write  in  rime 
The  woe  of  these  women  that  dwell  in  cottages, 


114  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

And  of  many  other  men,  that  much  woe  suffer, 

With  both  famine  and  thirst ;  yet  they  put  on  a  bold  face, 

And  are  ashamed  to  beg  or  to  show  their  need. 

The  poem  is  so  full  of  attacks  upon  the  ecclesiastical 
system  of  the  time  that  Langland  has  sometimes  been 
called  a  Lollard,  but  this  is  a  mistake.  He  was  bitter 
against  the  abuses,  but  loyal  to  the  essential  doctrines  of 
Romanism.  In  the  twentieth  passtts  Piers  is  tending  a 
wounded  man  (that  is,  a  sinner)  whom  Vixxih  and  Hope' 
have  forsaken  : 

"Do  not  blame  them,"  said  Piers;  "their  presence  would 
not  avail. 

Nor  any  medicine  on  earth,  to  heal  the  man. 

Without  the  blood  of  a  babe  he  may  not  be  saved, 

And  that  babe  must  needs  be  born  of  a  maid ; 

With  the  blood  of  that  babe  he  must  be  anointed  and  bap- 
tized. 

And  though  he  step  and  stand,  he  shall  never  be  right 
strong 

Till  he  have  eaten  that  babe  and  drunk  his  blood." 

Langland  li\-ed  to  be  an  old  man,  and  his  whole  life, 
apparently,  was  dedicated  to  work  upon  this  poem.  He 
gave  it  to  the  world  first  in  a  shorter  form,  but  after- 
wards, at  intervals,  issued  two  altered  and  expanded 
editions.  No  money  was  to  be  won  by  such  labors,  and 
Langland's  satire  upon  the  clergy  must  have  dej)ri\'ed 
him  of  all  chance  of  promotion  in  the  church.  The 
poem  must,  therefore,  have  been  entirely  a  labor  of 
lw\-e  and  conscience. 

36.  Gower.  —  The  most  celebrated  of  the  poets  con- 
temi)()rary  with   Chaucer  was  John   (]ower.      His  celeb- 


THE   AGE    OF   CHAUCER  II5 

rity,  however,  was  not  due  to  his  genius,  for  his  gift 
was  less  than  that  of  either  Langland  or  the  author  of 
Gawayne  and  the  Green  KnigJit ;  it  was  due  chiefly  to 
the  fact  that  he  wrote  in  the  East  Midland  dialect,  and 
therefore  could  be  read  with  ease  after  his  greater  con- 
temporaries had  become  wholly  unintelligible.  Moreover, 
he  was  a  courtier  and  a  polished  gentleman,  and  there- 
fore was  able  to  write  the  sort  of  poetry  that  was  then 
in  fashion,  if  not  actually  to  set  the  fashion  himself. 
Consequently,  it  was  for  many  generations  a  common 
thing  to  bracket  his  name  with  Chaucer's,^  while  his 
humble  superiors  were  ignored. 

Gower  was  born  about  the  year  1325,  and  died  in 
1408.  He  was  probably  a  rich  man,  and  certainly  a 
highly  educated  one.  His  three  most  considerable  works 
are  in  three  different  languages  ;  the  Vox  Claviantis  in 
Latin,  the  Speculum  Meditantis  in  French,  and  the  Con- 
fessio  Amantis  in  English.  Apparently  he  wrote  with 
the  same  ease  in  all  three,  although  in  one  of  his  minor 
French  poems  he  apologizes  for  slips  : 

Al  Universite  de  tout  le  monde 
Johan  Gower  ceste  balade  envoie, 
Et  si  jeo  nai  de  francois  la  faconde, 
Pardonet^  moi  qe  jeo  de  ceo  forsvoie. 
Jeo  sui  Englois.  .  .  ? 

1  E.g.,  Skelton,  Garlaiide  of  La2irell,  1.  387  : 

And  as  I  thus  sadly  anionge  them  avj^sid, 

I  saw  Gower,  that  first  garnisshed  our  Englysshe  rude, 

And  Maister  Chaucer,  that  nobly  enterprysed 

How  that  our  Englysshe  myght  fresshely  be  ennewed. 

^  "  To  the  University  of  all  the  world  John  Gower  sends  this  bal- 
lade; and  if  I  have  not  a  good  French  style,  pardon  my  shortcomings  ; 
I  am  English." 


Il6  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

And  his  Latin,  of  course,  was  neither  elegant  nor  cor- 
rect ;  but  that  was  less  his  own  fault  than  the  habit  of 
his  time,  for  Ciceronian   Latin  had  long  been  forgotten. 
The  Confcssio  Ajiiantis  begins  as  follows  : 

Of  hem  that  writen  us  to-fore 
The  bokes  dwelle,^  and  we  therfore 
Ben  taught  of  that  was  writen  tho."- 
Forthy  ^  good  is,  that  we  also 
In  oure  time  amonge  us  here 
Do  write  of-newe  ^  some  matere 
PLnsampled  of  ^  the  olde  wise, 
So  that  it  might  in  suche  a  wise. 
Whan  we  be  dede  and  elles-where, 
Beleve  ^  to  the  worldes  ere 
In  time  comend  '  after  this. 
But  for  men  sain,  and  sothe  it  is. 
That  who  that  al  of  wisdom  writ 
It  dulleth  ofte  a  mannes  wit 
To  hem  that  shall  it  alday  rede, 
For  thilke "  cause,  if  that  ye  rede, 
I  wolde  go  the  middel  wey 
And  write  a  boke  betwene  the  twey  ^ 
Somewhat  of  lust,'"  somewhat  of  lore, 
That  of  the  lasse  or  of  the  more 
Som  man  may  like  of  that  I  write, 
And  for  that  fewe  men  endite" 
In  our  Englisshe,  I  thenke '"-  make 
A  boke  for  king  Richardes  sake, 
To  whom  belongeth  my  legeaunce 
With  all  min  hertes  obeisaunce. 
In  all  that  ever  a  lege  man 
Unto  his  king  may  done  or  can. 

1  Are  still  extant.         -  then.        ^  therefore.        *  anew.        ^  modeled 
upon.  •"  remain.  '  coming.  *  that.  ^  two.         ^"  pleasure. 

"  write.         1-  intend  to. 


THE    AGE    OF    CHAUCER  II/ 

In  pursuance  of  this  plan  Gower  has  written  a  didactic 
prologue,  in  a  thousand  lines  or  more,  to  instruct  the 
reader,  while  the  rest  of  the  poem,  —  some  thirty  or 
forty  thousand  lines,  —  is  evidently  intended  to  entertain 
him.  The  prologue  is  a  criticism  of  the  poet's  own  time, 
just  as  Piers  Plozviiian  is  ;  but  it  is  written  in  a  politer 
dialect,  in  a  metre  which  (under  French  influence)  had 
begun  to  be  something  like  that  of  modern  poets,  and 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  courtier,  scholar,  and  landed 
proprietor.  Gower  laments  the  corruption  and  decay  of 
the  church,  which 

Causeth  for  to  bringe 
This  newe  secte  of  loUardie 
And  also  many  an  heresie 
Among  the  clerkes  in  hem  selve. 

He  inveighs  especially  against  the  ambition  and  avarice 
which  he  says  have  driven  out  the  simple  humility  and 
charity  of  the  olden  time,  and  urges  that  there  can  be  no 
hope  for  the  world  so  long  as  the  whole  human  race  is 
divided  against  itself.  Gower  was  an  earnest  and  fearless 
thinker,  and  however  flippantly  we  may  speak  of  him  as 
a  poet,  he  is  entitled  to  high  esteem  as  a  man,  and  as  a 
sober  student  of  his  times.  Chaucer,  in  dedicating  his 
Troilus  and  Criscyde,  said  : 

O  moral  Gower,  this  book  I  directe 
To  thee  ; 

and  the  epithet  has  clung  to  Gower's  name  ever  since. 

The  rest  of  the  Confcssio  Aviantis  is  a  tediously  typi- 
cal illustration  of  the  influence  of  the  French  literature 
of  chivalry.     The  poet  represents  himself  as  a  faithful 


Il8  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

though  not  faultless  servant  of  Love,  coming  to  the  court 
of  Venus  and  praying  for  relief.  Venus  appoints  a 
person  called  Genius  to  be  his  father  confessor,  and  the 
poet  kneels  to  him  as  a  sinner  to  a  priest  of  the  church. 
Genius  asks  him  searching  questions  about  his  offenses 
against  the  laws  of  Love,  and  tells  a  long  story  to  illus- 
trate the  importance  of  each  law.  The  telling  of  these 
stories  is  of  course  the  main  purpose  of  the  poem,  but 
the  whole  collection  is  unified  by  the  setting.  The  court 
of  Venus  and  Cupid,  the  laws  of  Love,  the  penitent 
offender  against  those  laws,  and  most  of  the  rest  of  the 
'f  machinery  ""  of  the  poem  were  common  conventions 
in  French  poetry  and  (as  we  shall  see  in  a  later 
chapter)  were  destined  to  become  common  enough  in 
England. 

A  single  example  of  Gower's  method  w'ill  suffice.  Dis- 
obedience, which  .springs  from  pride,  is  one  of  the  com- 
mon offenses  again.st  the  law.  The  confessor  explains 
what  it  is,  the  lover  confesses  his  guilt,  and  the  confessor 
illustrates  by  the  following  story  the  advantages  of  obedi- 
ence and  humility  : 

There  was  once  a  worthy  knight,  Florent,  a  nephew 
of  the  Emperor.  This  knight  had  once  killed  a  certain 
Branchus,  and  the  friends  of  the  latter  waylaid  Florent  and 
took  him  to  their  castle  as  a  prisoner.  There  the  grand- 
mother of  Branchus  came  to  him  and  offered  him  his  lib- 
erty on  this  condition,  that  by  a  certain  day  he  should 
bring  her  the  answer  to  a  question  which  she  would  put  to 
him ;  he  must  freely  agree,  however,  that  in  the  event  of 
his  failure  they  might  put  him  to  death.  Florent  agreed, 
and  the  question  was  put :  "  what  do  all  women  most 
desire  ? " 


THE    AGE    OF    CHAUCER  I  19 

Florent  went  home  and  tried  in  vain  to  get  a  satisfactory 
answer.  At  the  time  appointed  he  was  returning  to  his 
death,  when  there  met  him  a  hideously  loathsome  old 
woman,  who  promised  to  save  him  on  condition  that  he 
would  marry  her.  Reluctantly  he  assented,  for  life  is 
sweet,  and  he  thought  he  could  hide  her  where  no  man 
should  see  her,  and  she  must  soon  die.  So  she  told  him 
the  right  answer  to  the  question,  which  was,  "to  be  sov- 
ereign of  man's  love."  The  answer  was  accepted  by  the 
household  of  Branchus,  and  Florent  was  set  free  ;  and  being 
an  honorable  knight,  he  kept  his  word  to  the  hag.  After 
the  ceremony,  they  retired  together  for  the  night,  but 
Florent  persistently  turned  his  back  on  his  wife,  in  disgust 
and  despair.  At  last,  in  obedience  to  her  urgent  entreaty, 
he  looked  at  her,  and  found  her  only  eighteen  )ears  old, 
and  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen.  As  he 
started  to  embrace  her,  she  checked  him,  and  asked 
whether  he  preferred  thenceforth  to  have  her  young  and 
beautiful  by  day,  or  by  night ;  for  he  must  choose  between 
the  two.  He  begged  her  to  choose  for  him,  saying  she 
was  his  mistress  and  he  put  himself  entirely  under  her 
direction.  At  that  she  assured  him  that  she  would  keep 
her  youth  and  beauty  at  all  times.  She  explained  that  she 
was  a  king's  daughter,  and  that  her  stepmother,  by  a  wicked 
enchantment,  had  doomed  her  to  endure  the  loathsome  dis- 
guise of  a  hag  until  she  should  win  the  love  and  sovereignty 
of  the  most  famous  knight  in  the  world  ;  which  she  had 
now  done. 

This  story,  like  many  others  in  the  poem,  is  good  in 
itself  ;  but  it  owes  nothing  to  Gower's  telling.  He  is 
destitute  of  the  charm  that  we  look  for  in  a  poet,  and  is 
insufferably  prolix.  Even  by  the  few  lines  that  have 
been  quoted  from  the  prologue,  the  reader  can  see  that 
thirty  thousand  lines  of  Gower  are  too  much. 


CHAPTER    VII 

CHAUCER 

37.  The  Life  of  Chaucer.  —  Geoffrey  Chaucer  was  the 
soil  of  John  Chaucer,  a  London  vintner.  The  date  of 
his  birth  is  unknown.  In  certain  documents  relating 
to  a  legal  proceeding  in  which  the  poet's  father  was 
concerned,  John  Chaucer  was  described  as  being  in 
1324  not  yet  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  as  being  in 
1328  still  unmarried.  These  facts  fix  the  earliest  limit 
that  can  possibly  be  considered  for  the  date  of  the  poet's 
birth.  A  later  limit  is  suggested  by  some  legal  proceed- 
ings in  1386,  in  which  he  is  described  as  "of  the  age  of 
forty  years  and  more."  If  this  was  correct,  and  if  the 
phrase  (like  "forty  odd")  means  "more  than  forty  and 
less  than  fifty,"  then  Chaucer  could  not  have  been  born 
before  1336.  On  the  other  hand,  the  later  facts  of 
Chaucer's  life,  and  many  remarks  in  his  poems  about 
his  old  age,  tempt  us  to  assign  as  early  a  date  as  pos- 
sible for  his  birth.  It  cannot  have  been  much  later  than 
1336,  and  it  may  have  been  a  little  earlier. 

The  earliest  known  mention  of  the  poet  is  dated  1357. 
It  is  found  in  the  household  accounts  of  the  wife  of 
Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence,  one  of  the  sons  of  Edward 
III.  These  accounts  had  been  used  to  bind  a  manu- 
script of  some  fifteenth-century  poems,  and  were  only 
recently  discovered  in  the  British  Museum.     They  show. 


CHAUCliR  12  1 

among  other  things,  that  in  April,  1357,  the  Countess 
spent  seven  shillings  for  a  suit  of  clothes  for  Geoffrey 
Chaucer.  This,  with  other  evidence  of  similar  character, 
shows  that  the  poet  was  in  his  youth  in  the  service  of 
Lionel's  family,  doubtless  as  a  page.  Such  a  position 
was  not  of  a  menial  nature.  It  was  one  which  might 
well  be  coveted  by  a  gentleman's  son,  and  it  secured  for 
Chaucer  a  gentleman's  education  and  training. 

A  little  later  the  royal  accounts  show  that  Chaucer 
served  in  the  wars  in  France  and  was  taken  prisoner, 
for  the  king  paid  something  for  his  ransom.  Still  later, 
other  documents  show  that  pensions  were  paid  to  him, 
sometimes  in  money,  sometimes  in  allowances  of  wine 
from  the  royal  cellars.  As  he  rose  in  the  world  he  was 
found  to  be  a  man  of  skill  and  judgment  in  diplomacy, 
and  was  sent  on  several  important  missions  to  France 
and  to  Italy.  He  also  held  offices  of  trust  and  dignity 
at  home.  For  twelve  years  he  was  Controller  of  the 
Customs  at  the  port  of  London  ;  he  was  a  member  of 
Parliament  in  1386  ;  was  Clerk  of  the  King's  Works  in 
1 389  ;  and  was  a  forester  of  the  Earl  of  March  in  1 390. 
He  was  married  and  had  at  least  one  son.  He  had  his 
ups  and  downs  in  worldly  prosperity,  however,  according 
to  the  capricious  chances  of  ro}'al  favor  ;  but  he  was  a 
man  of  eminent  attainments  apart  from  literature,  and 
his  character  won  the  affectionate  regard  of  many  of  his 
contemporaries.      He  died  in  1400. 

The  foregoing  are  by  no  means  all  the  known  facts  of 
Chaucer's  life,  but  they  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  ways 
by  which  scholars  have  obtained  information  about  him, 
and  to  explain  his  position  in  the  history  of  mediaeval 


122  KARLV    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

literature.  With  the  greatest  Hterary  genius  that  Eng- 
land had  yet  produced,  and  the  life  and  environment 
that  fell  to  Chaucer's  lot,  his  literary  position  seems  one 
that  might  in  great  part  have  been  predicted.  He  saw 
the  same  world  that  Langland  saw,  but  from  a  very  dif- 
ferent point  of  view.  He  was  familiar  with  the  dreams 
of  the  romancers  as  well  as  with  those  of  the  religious 
mystics,  but  he  was  a  sagacious  man  of  the  world, 
with  a  practical  business  sense.  He  loved  a  good  story 
—  loved  it  all  the  better,  perhaps,  if  it  was  touched 
with  the  satirical  spirit  of  the  popular  /ad /z a »x ;  but  his 
court  training  tended  to  make  him  one  of  the  aristocrats 
of  literary  art,  and  his  travels  in  Italy  taught  him  what- 
ever it  was  possible  to  learn  of  literary  finish,  in  the  land 
where  the  Renaissance  was  already  in  progress. 

38.  Chaucer's  French  Period.  —  We  have  seen  in  an 
earlier  chapter  how  some  of  the  mediaeval  romancers 
infused  into  their  fantasies  some  of  the  spirit  of  mediae- 
val religion.  There  was  another  kind  of  romantic  poetry 
which  owed  much  to  the  influence  of  religious  literature, 
but  in  a  different  way.  It  will  be  remembered  that  one 
peculiar  manifestation  of  the  mediaeval  religious  spirit 
was  a  fancy  for  detecting  in  things  material  an  image 
of  things  spiritual.  This  fancy  led  to  a  profusion  of 
allegorical  religious  literature,  of  which  the  Bestiary  is  a 
crude  example,  and  Pearl  a  much  finer  one  ;  but  a  sim- 
ilar fancy  also  took  hold  of  the  courtly  romancers,  and 
led  to  the  sort  of  poetry  commonly  called  "  court  alle- 
gory." This  literary  species  can  best  be  illustrated  by 
an  abstract  of  part  of  the  Roviaiint  of  iJic  Rose,  a 
French  poem  of  the  thirteenth  century. 


CHAUCER  123 

The  poet  has  a  dream  in  which,  walking  along  a  river- 
bank  in  the  month  of  May,  he  comes  upon  a  beautiful 
garden  surrounded  by  a  high  wall.  On  the  outside  of  this 
wall  are  paintings  and  sculptures  representing  such  persons 
as  Churlishness,  Sorrow,  Age,  and  Poverty.  (As  the  gar- 
den is  Love's  domain,  the  fact  that  these  figures  are  on  the 
outside  seems  to  indicate  that  romantic  love  is  an  entertain- 
ment for  only  those  who  are  well-born,  happy,  young,  and 
rich.)  The  poet  at  last  finds  a  gate  kept  by  the  porter 
Idleness,  who  opens  for  him.  In  the  garden  is  the  God  of 
Love,  with  his  attendant  lords  and  ladies.  Beauty,  Riches, 
Gladness,  Courtesy,  and  many  others.  The  poet  avoids 
them  for  a  time,  and  wanders  about  the  garden  till  he 
comes  to  a  beautiful  rose-bush.  One  of  the  roses  on  this 
bush  attracts  him  so  that  he  cannot  leave  the  place,  but 
lingers  there  smelling  of  it  and  longing  to  pluck  it ;  and 
while  he  is  so  engaged,  Love  (who  has  been  watching  him 
all  the  time)  shoots  his  arrows  at  him,  and  demands  his 
surrender.  The  poet  thereupon  kneels  before  the  god  with 
joined  hands,  and  does  him  homage  and  becomes  his 
"man."  Love  demands  security,  and  the  poet  offers  his 
heart,  which  the  god  accepts  and  locks  up  with  a  little 
golden  key.  He  then  delivers  to  the  poet  a  long  lecture  on 
the  statute  laws  of  his  kingdom,  which  are  a  codification  of 
the  whole  duty  of  lovers.  The  lover  must  be  lean  and 
languishing,  must  be  sleepless  with  love-longing,  courteous 
of  speech,  reticent  about  his  love,  except  with  some  trust- 
worthy confidant,  untiring  in  his  devotion,  liberal  with 
gifts,  and  so  forth  ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  statutes  to 
suggest  that  he  ought  to  be  pure  of  heart.  After  the  lec- 
ture the  poet  was  free  to  approach  the  rose-bush  if  he 
could,  but  there  were  difficulties  in  the  way.  Fair  Recep- 
tion, Pity,  Frankness,  and  others,  tried  to  encourage  and 
help  him,  but  Reason,  Shame,  Chastity,  and  other  malig- 
nant enemies  of  Love,  conspired  to  keep  him  away.  Some 
of  them  built  a  high  wall  around  the  rose-bush  ;  and  the 


124  KAKLV    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

rest  of  the  poem  is  a  narrative  of  the  poet's  long  frustrated 
etiorts  to  pluck  the  rose. 

This  poem  is  dainty  in  treatment,  with  exery  appear- 
ance of  earnest  devotion,  on  the  part  of  the  author,  to 
the  god  of  his  idolatry  ;  but  from  the  foregoing  abstract, 
and  from  what  has  been  said  of  the  early  romances  of 
chivalry,  it  will  be  evident  that  it  was  really  written  in 
a  spirit  of  elegant  trifling,  and  that  its  fundamental  con- 
ception of  life  was  thoroughly  immoral.  It  was  one  of 
the  most  popular  books  known  in  the  fourteenth  century. 
One  of  Chaucer's  first  works  was  a  translation  of  it, 
and  we  find  evidences  of  its  influence  upon  almost  all 
Chaucer's  contemporaries.  Even  in  Pcaid  the  bereaved 
father  falls  asleep  and  dreams  that  he  is  walking  along 
a  river.  It  was  therefore  not  strange  that  Chaucer's 
earliest  original  poetry  should  bear  the  same  stamp. 
But  W'hile  Chaucer  imitates  the  allegorical  form  of  the 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  with  its  numberless  personifica- 
tions, its  dream  device,  its  affectation  of  devotion  to 
Love  and  his  laws,  its  conventional  background  of  river- 
side. May-time,  and  the  song  of  the  birds,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  "  machinery  "  of  the  poem,  he  nevertheless 
maintains  toward  the  idea  of  love,  or  whatever  happens 
to  be  his  subject,  an  attitude  of  healthy  common  sense. 
He  is  sometimes  coarse  ;  but  he  did  not  wrap  up  sensu- 
ality in  a  thin  veil  of  mysticism,  and  he  is  often  least 
immoral  where  he  is  most  indelicate. 

Two  of  Chaucer's  minor  poems,  the  Complaint  to  Pity, 
and  the  Book  of  the  Duchess,  may  be  mentioned  as  illus- 
trating his  French  period.  The  former  expresses  the 
sorrows  of   an   unsuccessful  lover,  in  the  conventional 


CHAUCER  125 

French  way.  The  lover  is  described  as  one  who  has 
long  sought  Pity,  for  the  purpose  of  presenting  to  her  a 
bill  of  complaint  against  Cruelty ;  as  if  Pity  held  a  court  of 
justice,  in  which  the  malicious  enemies  of  Love  might  be 
brought  to  trial.  He  finds  that  Pity  is  dead,  and  his  suit 
is  therefore  vain.  The  Book  of  the  Duchess  is  a  lament 
for  the  death  of  the  Duchess  Blanche,  wife  of  John  of 
Gaunt.  Chaucer  describes  himself  as  falling  asleep  over 
a  book,  and  dreaming  that  he  lies  in  bed  on  a  May 
morning,  listening  to  the  song  of  the  birds.  He  gets 
up  and  walks  out  into  the  woods.  There  he  finds  a 
man  dressed  in  black  (evidently  John  of  Gaunt)  who 
tells  him  the  story  of  his  love,  his  wooing,  and  his  be- 
reavement. At  the  end  of  the  recital  the  poet  wakes, 
and  finds  himself  lying  in  his  room  with  the  book  in  his 
hand.  The  widower's  story  is  told  in  the  French  man- 
ner, with  a  number  of  actual  borrowings  from  the 
Roviaunt  of  the  Rose ;  but  it  is  wedded  love  that  is 
celebrated,  and  the  moral  spirit  of  the  poem  owes 
nothing  to  the  school  of  Chrestien  of  Troyes. 

39.  Chaucer's  Later  Poems.  —  Chaucer's  French  period 
is  usually  said  to  have  been  followed  by  an  Italian  period, 
and  this  in  turn  by  an  English  period  ;  but  the  value  of 
this  triple  distinction  is  questionable.  His  later  works, 
composed  after  he  had  traveled  in  Italy  and  become 
acquainted  with  the  writings  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  and 
Boccaccio,  show  a  newly  awakened  genius  for  story-tell- 
ing, for  the  portrayal  of  character,  for  the  observation 
and  realistic  description  of  all  phases  of  life,  —  and  in 
short  for  most  of  the  essentials  of  poetry.  Some  of  his 
later  poems  are  more  directly  traceable  than  others  to 


126  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Italian  influence  ;  but  the  vital  fact  about  them  all  is 
that  they  were  comparatively  free  from  the  influence  of 
French  literature,  and  as  Chaucer  escaped  from  that  influ- 
ence he  was  escaping  from  the  shackles  of  mediaevalism. 

His  longest  single  poem,  Troihis  and  Cressida,  is 
commonly  counted  as  belonging  to  his  Italian  period, 
and  it  was  indeed  based  upon  a  poem  of  Boccaccio  ;  but 
Chaucer's  treatment  of  the  old  story  is  as  thoroughly 
T^nglish,  and  as  thoroughly  his  own,  as  most  of  his  later 
work.  The  story  is  of  the  Trojan  hero's  love  for  the 
faithless  Cressida,  who  swears  eternal  fidelity,  but  soon 
deserts  him  for  the  Greek  Diomed.  The  love  of  Troilus 
is  intense  and  largely  animal,  like  the  love  of  heroes  in 
the  older  romances,  and  Cressida's  acceptance  of  it  is 
after  the  old  romantic  pattern,  furtive  and  dishonorable ; 
but  Chaucer  presents  things  as  they  are,  sometimes  with 
brutal  frankness,  but  never  with  any  obliquity  of  moral 
vision.  In  a  typical  French  romance  the  heroine  is 
wooed,  and  after  long-continued  coyness  relents ;  in 
Chaucer's  poem  she  is  tempted,  and  after  some  resistance 
falls.  Moreover,  the  actions  of  both  hero  and  heroine 
are  always  prompted  by  intelligible  motives.  They  are 
a  man  and  a  woman,  not  puppets  of  romance. 

The  Legend  of  Good  Women  is  an  excellent  instance 
of  Chaucer's  new  way  of  using  old  material.  It  is  a  col- 
lection of  tales  from  classical  mytholog}^,  introduced  by 
a  prologue  in  something  like  the  French  manner  ;  but 
both  the  prologue  and  the  tales  themselves  are  stamped 
with  Chaucer's  individual  imprint.  The  prologue  tells 
how  Chaucer,  after  a  ramble  through  the  fields  on  a 
beautiful  day  in  May,  fell  asleep  in  an  arbor,  and  dreamed 


CHAUCER  127 

that  he  was  walking  in  a  meadow  and  Ustening  to  the 
song  of  the  birds.  The  God  of  Love  came  up,  leading 
by  the  hand  Alcestis,  the  pattern  of  wifely  virtue  and 
devotion.  The  god  addresses  Chaucer  wrathfully,  for 
(he  says)  the  poet  has  translated  the  Roi)iaunt  of  the 
Rose  and  written  the  story  of  Cressida,  and  both  these 
works  tend  to  make  men  think  lightly  of  Love  and  of  his 
law.^  Why  could  he  not  have  written  of  some  good 
woman,  instead  of  the  false  and  wicked  ones.'^  The  god 
seems  disposed  to  deal  harshly  with  the  ])oet,  but  Alcestis 
graciously  intercedes  for  him  and  obtains  his  pardon. 
The  pardon,  however,  is  granted  only  on  condition  of  his 
now  writing  a  book  about  women  who,  whether  wives  or 
maidens,  have  shown  lifelong  devotion  and  fidelity.  The 
poet  wakes  and  proceeds  to  perform  the  condition. 

One  curious  instance  of  Chaucer's  common-sense  real- 
ism, from  the  body  of  the  Legend,  may  serve  as  a  typical 
specimen.  He  is  telling  the  story  of  Dido.  In  Vergil's 
^neid,  when  the  faithful  Achates  was  sent  to  the  fleet 
for  young  Ascanius,  Venus  induced  her  son  to  take  the 
boy's  place  ;  and  thus  Cupid  was  enabled  to  instil  his 
poison  into  the  breasts  of  yEneas  and  Dido.  Here  is 
Chaucer's  version  : 

Repaired  is  this  Achates  again, 
And  Eneas  ful  blisful  is  and  fain 
To  seen  his  yonge  sone  Ascanius. 
But  natheless,  our  autour  telleth  us 
That  Cupido,  that  is  the  god  of  love, 
At  preyere  of  his  moder,  hye  above, 

'  So  far  as  the  Rofuaiint  of  the  Rose  is  concerned,  this  refers  to  parts 
of  the  poem  not  covered  by  the  abstract  in  the  preceding  section. 


128  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Hadde  the  lyknes  of  the  child  y-take,^ 
This  noble  quene  enamoured  to  make 
On  Eneas  ;  but,  as  of  that  scripture, 
Be  as  be  may,  I  make  of  hit  no  cure. 

The  last  lines  mean,  "  as  for  that  version,  be  as  be  may, 
I  care  not  for  it  ;  "  and  accordingly  the  story  proceeds 
on  the  assumption  that  the  boy  who  came  to  Dido's  arms 
was  really  Ascanius. 

40.  The  Canterbury  Tales.  —  As  Chaucer  grew  older,  his 
humor  and  his  poetic  genius  seemed  to  develop  steadily. 
After  completing  eight  tales  for  the  Legend  of  Good 
lVo?Heu,  he  left  the  work  unfinished  and  devoted  himself 
to  the  Ca7iterbury  Tales ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  why  he 
did  so.  The  latter  work  was  also  a  collection  of  stories 
introduced  by  a  prologue,  but  the  scheme  of  the  work 
was  much  better  suited  to  the  poet's  ripened  powers  than 
was  that  of  the  Legend.  In  the  prologue  of  the  later 
work  Chaucer  presents  a  company  of  pilgrims,  drawn 
f  rcjm  all  classes  in  society,  "meeting  by  chance  at  an  inn 
on  the  road  to  Canterbury,  and  making  their  pilgrimage 
to  the  shrine  together.  To  relieve  the  journey,  they 
agree  to  tell  stories  on  the  way.  The  Prologue  describes 
the  pilgrims  at  the  inn,  and  starts  them  on  their  way  to 
(Canterbury ;  and  the  tales  follow,  each  told  by  some 
member  of  the  company.  This  scheme  brought  all 
Chaucer's  powers  into  play.  One  of  the  pilgrims  is  a 
knight,  and  his  story  is  naturally  a  romance  of  chivalry  ; 
another  is  a  nun,  who  tells  the  legend  of  a  saint,  full 
of  the  spirit  of  mediaeval  asceticism ;  another  is  a  hearty 
young  priest,  who  tells  a  tale  of  the  Cock  and  the  Fo.x 

1  taken. 


CHAUCER  129 

in  the  spirit  of  the  early  Reynard  romances  ;  a  brawny, 
brutish  miller  tells  a  comic  and  scurrilows,  fabliau  ;  and, 
in  general,  as  all  sorts  of  men  and  women  are  introduced 
in  the  Prologue,  so  the  Tales  themselves  present  all  kinds 
of  subjects,  from  love  to  w^ar  and  from  earth  to  heaven. 
There  is  much  trenchant  satire  in  Chaucer's  character- 
izations. He  is  as  severe  as  Langland  upon  the  abuses 
that  were  common  in  the  church,  but  his  method  is 
very  different  from  Langland's.  The  latter,  for  exam- 
ple, keeps  attacking  the  four  orders  of  friars,  exposing 
their  wickedness  and  declaiming  against  it  and  them; 
Chaucer's  way  is  rather  to  present  an  individual  friar, 
and  make  him  appear  both  odious  and  ridiculous.  His 
satire  is  personal  where  Langland's  is  institutional.  He 
hated  the  friars  more  because  they  w^ere  contemptible 
men  than  because  they  were  a  menace  to  society.  He 
was  a  literary  artist,  not  a  reformer.  An  excellent  speci- 
men of  his  method  is  found  in  the  Siimmoner  s  Talc, 
which  tells  how  a  friar  on  his  begging  rounds  came  to  a 
hospitable  house  where  he  had  often  before  had  filling 
dinners  and  ogled  the  good  man's  wife. 

So  long  he  wente,  hous  by  hous,  til  he 

Cam  til  an  hous  ther  he  was  wont  to  be 

Refresshed  moore  than  in  an  hundred  placis  ; 

Syk  lay  the  goode  man  whos  that  the  place  is ; 

Bedrede  ^  upon  a  couche  lowe  he  lay. 

"  Deus  hie  /"  quod  he,  "O  Thomas,  freend,  good  day  !  " 

Seyde  this  frere,  curteisly  and  softe. 

"Thomas,"  quod  he,  "God  yelde "  yow !  ful  ofte 

Have  I  upon  this  bench  faren  ful  weel ; 

1  bedridden.  ^  reward. 


130  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Heere  have  I  eten  many  a  myrie  meel ;  " 
And  fro  the  bench  he  if  roof  atvey  the  cdt. 
And  leyde  adoun  his  potente-'  and  his  hat, 
And  eek  his  scrippe,  and  sette  hym  softe  adoun. 

Chaucer's  best  comic  creation  is  the  Wife  of  Bath. 
She  is  middle-aged,  stout,  and  jovially  healthy,  and  wins 
ready  forgiveness  for  most  of  her  shortcomings  by  her 
breezy  frankness  in  confessing  them.  Before  she  begins 
her  tale  she  gives  the  company  a  garrulous  sketch  of  her 
own  life,  and  even  Shakespeare's  Falstaff  could  hardly 
reveal  himself  better.  Some  extracts  from  her  discourse 
will  perhaps  give  a  fairer  impression  of  Chaucer's  ver- 
satility than  any  other  single  passage  could  give.  It 
must  be  remembered,  however,  that  a  great  poet  is  fully 
known  only  when  all  his  works  are  read.  Chaucer's 
tragic  power,  for  example,  is  hardly  suggested  in  the 
excerpts  which  follow. 

Chaucer's  pronunciation  was  very  different  from  ours, 
and  the  melody  of  his  verse,  which  is  often  exquisite, 
cannot  be  appreciated  without  a  knowledge  of  at  least 
one  of  the  differences.  In  the  following  extracts  a  grave 
accent  is  used  where  the  letter  e  (now  silent)  had  in 
Chaucer's  speech  a  syllabic  value.  The  word  "telle," 
for  example,  should  have  the  final  vowel  lightly  sounded, 
somewhat  like  the  a  in  "Ella."  The  presence  in  Chaucer's 
language  of  a  great  number  of  words  with  the  letter  e  thus 
pronounced  enabled  the  poet  to  secure  a  certain  fluency 
of  style  which  is  now  almost  impossible.  A  striking 
illustration  of  this  fact  may  be  seen  in  Chaucer's  line  : 
As  thikke  as  motes  in  the  sonne-beem. 
1  staff. 


CHAUCER  131 

Two  later  poets  imitated  this  line.      Milton  wrote  : 
As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sun-beams  ; 

and  Dryden  wrote  : 

Thick  as  the  motes  that  twinkle  in  the  sun. 

It  is  clear  that  Middle  Itnglish  was  somewhat  inferior 
to  our  modern  speech  in  terseness  and  vigor.  It  is 
easier  for  us  to  write  compactly  than  it  was  for  Chau- 
cer ;  but  it  was  easier  for  him  to  write  with  a  melodious 
fluency. 

{The  Prologe  of  the  Wyves  Tale  of  Bathe) 

Now,  sire,  now  wol  I  telle  forth  my  tale. 
As  evere  moote  I  drinken  wyn  or  ale, 
195    I  shal  seye  sooth  of  housbondes  that  I  hadde. 
As  thre  of  hem  were  goode,  and  two  were  badde. 

But,  Lord  Crist !   whan  that  it  remembreth  me 
470    Upon  my  yowthe,  and  on  my  jolitee, 

It  tikleth  me  aboute  myn  herte  ^  roote  ! 

Unto  this  day  it  dooth  myn  herte  boote^ 

That  I  have  had  my  world,  as  in  my  time. 

But  Age,  alias  !  that  al  wole  envenyme, 
475    Hath  me  biraft  my  beautee  and  my  pith, — 

Lat  go,  fare  wel,  the  devel  go  therwith  ! 

The  flour  is  goon,  ther  is  namoore  to  telle, 

The  bren,  as  1  best  kan,  now  moste  I  selle ; 

But  yet  to  be  right  myrie  wol  I  fonde.^ 
480    Now  wol  I  tellen  of  my  fourthe  housbonde. 

1  heart's.  "^  good.  ^  try. 


132  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

495    He  deyde  whan  I  cam  fro  Jerusalem, 

And  lith  y-grave  ^  under  the  roode-beem,- 

Al^  is  his  tombe  noght  so  curyus  * 

As  was  the  sepulcre  of  hym  Daryus, 

Which  that  Apelles  wroghte  subtilly  ; 
500    It  nys  but  wast  to  burye  hym  preciously. 

Lat  hym  fare  wel,  God  geve  his  soule  reste, 

He  is  now  in  his  grave  and  in  his  cheste  ! 
Now  of  my  fifthe  housbonde  wol  I  telle. 

God  lete  hise  soule  nevere  come  in  helle  ! 
505    And  yet  was  he  to  me  the  mooste  shrewe  ;  ^ 

That  feel  I  on  my  ribbes  al-by-rewe.** 

[But]  thogh  he  hadde  me  bet"  on  every  bon, 

He  koude  wynne  agayn  my  love  anon. 

I  trowe  I  loved  hym  beste  for  that  he 

Was  of  his  love  daungerous"^  to  me. 
515    We  wommen  han,  if  that  I  shal  nat  lye, 

In  this  matere  a  queynte  fantasye  ; 

Wayte !  w^hat  thing  we  may  nat  lightly  have, 

Ther  after  wol  we  crie  al  day  and  crave. 

Forbede  us  thyng,  and  that  desiren  we  ; 
520    Preesse  on  us  faste  and  thanne  wol  we  fle. 

525    My  fifthe  housbonde,  God  his  soule  blesse  ! 
Which  that  I  took  for  love,  and  no  richesse, 
He  somtyme  was  a  clerk  of  Oxenford, 
And  hadde  left  scole  and  wente  at  hom  to  bord 
With  my  gossib,^  dwellynge  in  oure  toun  ; 

530    God  have  hir  soule,  hir  name  was  Alisoun. 
She  knew  my  herte,  and  eek  my  privetee, 
Bet  ^"  than  oure  parisshe  preest,  as  moot  I  thee." 

'  buried.  -  beam  bearing  a  crucifix,  in  church.  -^  although. 

*  elaborate.        ^  ill-natured.        ''  all  in  a  row.       "  beaten.       •*  niggardly, 
undemonstrative.         ^  crony.         ''J  better.         '^  thrive. 


CHAUCER  133 

And  so  bifel  that  ones  in  a  Lente, 

So  often  tymes  I  to  my  gossyb  wente,  — ■ 

545    For  evere  yet  I  loved  to  be  gay, 

And  for  to  walke  in  March,  Averill  and  May, 
Fro  hous  to  hous  to  heere  sondry  talys,  — 
That  Jankyn  clerk,  and  my  gossyb  dame  Alys 
And  I  myself  into  the  feeldes  wente. 

550    Myn  housbonde  was  at  London  al  that  Lente ; 
I  hadde  the  bettre  leyser  for  to  pleye, 
And  for  to  se,  and  eek  for  to  be  seye  ^ 
Of  lusty  folk.     What  wiste  I  wher  my  grace 
Was  shapen  for  to  be,  or  in  what  place  ? 

555    Therfore  I  made  my  visitaciouns 
To  vigilies  ^  and  to  processiouns. 
To  prechyng  eek,  and  to  thise  pilgrimages. 
To  pleyes  of  myracles,  and  to  mariages. 
And  wared  upon  my  gaye  scarlet  gytes.'^ 

560    Thise  wormes,  ne  thise  motthes,  ne  thise  niytes 
Upon  my  peril  frete  *  hem  never-a-deel.^ 
And  wostow"  why  .-•    For  they  were  used  week 

Now  wol  I  tellen  forth  what  happed  me. 
I  seye  that  in  the  feeldes  walked  we, 

565    Till  trewely  we  hadde  swich  daliaunce, 
This  clerk  and  I,  that  of  my  purveiance  " 
I  spak  to  hym,  and  seyde  hym  how  that  he, 
If  I  were  wydwe,  sholde  wedde  me  ; 
For  certeinly,  —  I  sey  for  no  bobance,**  — 

570    Yet  was  I  nevere  withouten  purveiance 
Of  mariage,  nof  othere  thynges  eek. 
I  holde  a  mouses  herte  nat  worth  a  leek 
That  hath  but  oon  hole  for  to  sterte  to, 
And  if  that  faille  thanne  is  al  y-do. 

575        I  bar  hym  on  honde  '■*  he  hadde  enchanted  me,  — 

1  seen.         -  wakes.         ^  stockings  (or  perhaps  petticoats).         *  eat. 
5  not  at  all.  ^  knowest  thou.  "  i.e.,  by  way  of  provision  for  the 

future.         *>  boast.         ^  accused  him. 


134  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

My  dame  taughte  me  that  soutiltee/  — 
And  eek  I  seyde,  I  mette  -  of  hym  al  nyght, 
He  wolde  han  slayn  me  as  I  lay  upright,^ 
And  al  my  bed  was  ful  of  verray  blood  ; 

5S0    But  yet  I  hope  that  he  shal  do  me  good, 

For  blood  bitokeneth  gold,  as  me  was  taught ; 
And  al  was  fals,  I  dremed  of  it  right  naught, 
But  I  fohved  ay  my  dames  loore. 
As  wel  of  this  as  of  othere  thynges  moore. 

5S5        But  now,  sire,  —  lat  me  se,  —  what  I  shal  seyn  ? 
A  ha  !  by  God,  I  have  my  tale  ageyn. 

Whan  that  my  fourthe  housbonde  was  on  beere  ■* 
I  weepte  algate^  and  made  sory  cheere, 
As  wy ves  mooten,®  for  it  is  \isage, 

590    And  with  my  coverchief  covered  my  visage; 
But,  for  that  I  was  purveyed  of  a  make,' 
I  wepte  but  smal,  and  that  I  undertake  ! 

To  chirche  was  myn  housbonde  born  a-morwe  ^ 
With  neighebores,  that  for  hym  maden  sorwe, 

595    And  Jankyn,  oure  clerk,  was  oon  of  tho. 

As  help  me  God,  whan  that  I  saugh  hym  go 
After  the  beere,  me  thoughte  he  hadde  a  paire 
Of  legges  and  of  feet  so  clene  and  faire. 
That  al  myn  herte  I  gaf  unto  his  hoold. 

What  sholde  I  seye,  but  at  the  monthes  ende 
This  joly  clerk,  Jankyn,  that  was  so  hende,^ 
Hath  wedded  me  with  greet  solempnytee, 
630    And  to  hym  gaf  I  all  the  lond  and  fee, 
That  evere  was  me  geven  ther-bifoore ; 
But  afterward  repented  me  ful  soore. 
He  nolde  suffre  nothyng  of  my  list ; 
By  God,  he  smoot  me  ones  on  the  lyst,"* 


subtilty. 

-  dreamed.        •''  on  my  back. 

^  bier.        ''  to  be  sure. 

•^  must. 

'  .spouse.       ^  on  the  morrow. 

^  agreeable.       '"J  ear. 

CHAUCER  135 

635    For  that  I  rente  out  of  his  book  a  leef, 
That  of  the  strook  myn  ere  wax  al  deef. 

But  now  to  purpos  why  I  tolde  thee 

That  I  was  beten  for  a  book,  pardee. 

Upon  a  nyght  Jankyn,  that  was  oure  sire, 

Redde  on  his  book,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire, 
715    Of  Eva  first,  that  for  hir  wikkednesse 

Was  al  mankynde  broght  to  wrecchednesse; 

For  which  that  Jesus  Crist  hymself  was  slayn, 

That  boghte  us  with  his  herte  blood  agayn. 

Lo,  heere  expres  of  womman  may  ye  fynde, 
720    That  womman  was  the  los  of  al  mankynde. 

Tho  redde  he  me  how  Sampson  loste  hise  heres ; 

Slepynge,  his  lemman  ^  kitte  it  with  hir  sheres ; 

Thurgh  which  tresoun  loste  he  bothe  hise  eyen. 

Tho  redde  he  me,  if  that  I  shal  nat  lyen, 
725    Of  Hercules  and  of  his  Dianyre, 

That  caused  hym  to  sette  hymself  afyre. 

And  whan  I  saugh  he  wolde  nevere  fyne^ 

To  reden  on  this  cursed  book  al  nyght, 
790    Al  sodeynly  thre  leves  have  I  plyght" 

Out  of  his  book,  right  as  he  radde,  and  eke 

I  with  my  fest  so  took  hym  on  the  cheke. 

That  in  oure  fyr  he  fil  bakward  adoun ; 

And  he  up  stirte  as  dooth  a  wood  ■*  leoun, 
795    And  with  his  fest  he  smoot  me  on  the  heed, 

That  in  the  floor  I  lay  as  I  were  deed  ; 

And  whan  he  saugh  how  stille  that  I  lay. 

He  was  agast  and  wolde  han  fled  his  way, 

Til  atte^  laste  out  of  my  swogh  I  breyde.'' 
800    "  O  hastow  slayn  me,  false  theef  ?  "  I  seyde  ; 

"  And  for  my  land  thus  hastow  mordred  me  ? 

1  sweetheart.      -  cease.      ^  plucked.      *  mad.      «  at  the.      "^  awoke. 


136  EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Er  I  be  deed,  yet  wol  I  kisse  thee." 

And  neer  he  cam,  and  kneled  faire  adoun, 
And  seyde,  "  Ueere  suster  Alisoun! 
05    As  help  me  God,  I  shal  thee  nevere  smyte. 
That  I  have  doon  it  is  thyself  to  wyte,^ 
Forgeve  it  me,  and  that  I  thee  biseke ;  " 
And  yet,  eft-soones,  I  hitte  hym  on  the  cheke, 
And  seyde,  "Theef !  thus  muchel  am  I  wreke,^ 

Sio    Now  wol  I  dye,  I  may  no  lenger  speke." 
But  atte  laste,  with  muchel  care  and  wo. 
We  fille  acorded  by  us  selven  two. 
He  gaf  me  al  the  bridel  in  myn  hond. 
To  han  the  governance  of  hous  and  lond, 

815    And  of  his  tonge,  and  of  his  hond  also. 

And  made  hym  brenne  his  book  anon  right  tho ; 

And  whan  that  I  hadde  geten  unto  me 

By  maistrie  al  the  soveraynetee,  — 

And  that  he  seyde,  "  Myn  owene  trewe  wyf, 

S20    Do  as  thee  lust  to  terme  ^  of  al  thy  lyf ; 

Keepe  thyn  honour,  and  keepe  eek  myn  estaat,"  — 
After  that  day  we  hadden  never  debaat. 
God  helpe  me  so,  I  was  to  hym  as  kynde 
As  any  wyf  from  Denmark  unto  Ynde, 

825    And  also  trewe,  and  so  was  he  to  me. 
I  prey  to  God,  that  sit  in  magestee. 
So  blesse  his  soule  for  his  mercy  deere. 
Now  wol  I  seye  my  tale,  if  ye  wol  heere. 

The  Frere  lough  ■*  whan  he  hadde  herd  al  this ; 
830    "Now,  dame,"  quod  he,  "so  have  I  joye  or  blis, 
This  is  a  long  preamble  of  a  tale." 
And  whan  the  Somonour  ^  herde  the  Frere  gale, 
"Lo,"  quod  the  Somonour,  "Goddes  armes  two! 
A  frere  wol  entremette  ^  him  evere-mo. 

1  blame.      ^  avenged.        ■'  the  end.      *  laughed.        ^  Summoner, 
a  kind  of  bailiff.  "  intrude. 


CHAUCER  137 

835    Lo,  goode  men,  a  flye,  and  eek  a  frere, 

Wol  falle  in  every  dysshe  and  eek  mateere. 
What  spekestow  of  '  preambulacioun  '  ? 
What  ?  amble,  or  trotte,  or  pees,  or  go  sit  doun ! 
Thou  lettest  ^  oure  disport  in  this  manere." 

840    "  Ye,  woltow  so,  sire  Somonour  ?  "  quod  the  Frere  ; 
"  Now,  by  my  feith  !   I  shal,  er  that  I  go. 
Telle  of  a  somonour  swich  a  tale  or  two 
That  alle  the  folk  shal  laughen  in  this  place." 
"  Now,  elles,  Frere,  I  bishrewe  thy  face  !  " 

845    Quod  this  Somonour,  "  and  I  bishrewe  me 
But  if  I  telle  tales,  two  or  thre. 
Of  freres,  er  I  come  to  Sidyngborne, 
That  I  shal  make  thyn  herte  for  to  morne, 
For  wel  I  woot  thy  pacience  is  gon." 

850        Our  Hooste  cride,  "  Pees  !  and  that  anon  ;  'J 
.    And  seyde,  "  Lat  the  womman  telle  hire  tale  ; 
Ye  fare  as  folk  that  dronken  ben  of  ale. 
Do,  dame,  telle  forth  youre  tale,  and  that  is  best." 
"Al  redy,  sire,"  quod  she,  "right  as  yow  lest; 

855    If  I  have  licence  of  this  worthy  Frere." 

"  Yis,  dame,"  quod  he,  "  tel  forth,  and  I  wol  heere." 

Here  endeth  the  Wyf  of  Bathe  hir  Prologc  and  bigyiiiui/i 
hir  tale. 

In  tholde  dayes  of  the  Kyng  Arthour, 

Of  which  that  Britons  speken  greet  honour, 

All  was  this  land  fulfild  of  fairye.^ 
860    The  elf  queene  with  hir  joly  compaignye 

Daunced  ful  ofte  in  many  a  grene  mede. 

This  was  the  olde  opinion  as  I  rede,  — 

I  speke  of  manye  hundred  yeres  ago,  — 

But  now  kan  no  man  se  none  elves  mo, 
865    For  now  the  grete  charitee  and  prayeres 

1  hinderest.  -'  troops  of  fairies. 


138  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Of  lymytours/  and  othere  hooly  freres, 

That  serchen  every  lond  and  every  streem, 

As  thikke  as  motes  in  the  sonne  beem,  — 

Blessynge  halles,  chambres,  kichenes,  boures, 
S70    Citees,  burghes,  castels,  hye  toures, 

Thropes,-  bernes,  shipnes,^  dayeryes,  — 

This  maketh  that  ther  been  no  fairyes; 

For  ther  as  wont  to  walken  was  an  elf, 

Ther  walketh  now  the  lymytour  hymself, 
875    In  undermeles'*  and  in  morwenynges, 

And  seyth  his  matyns  and  his  hooly  thynges 

As  he  gooth  in  his  lymytacioun.' 

Wommen  may  go  saufly  up  and  doun  ; 

In  every  bussh  or  under  every  tree, 
SSo    Ther  is  noon  oother  incubus  but  he, 

And  he  ne  wol  doon  hem  non  dishonour. 

(The  tale  then  tells  how  one  of  Arthur's  knights,  being 
under  sentence  of  death  for  a  violent  crime,  was  promised 
his  liberty  if  he  would,  within  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
tell  the  queen  what  thing  it  is  that  women  most  desire. 
He  sought  everywhere  for  an  answer,  and  was  returning  to 
his  death  when  he  met  an  ugly  old  woman  who  agreed  to 
save  him,  on  his  promise  to  marry  her.  She  prompted 
him  to  tell  the  queen  that  women  most  desire  sovereignty 
over  their  husbands.  The  answer  was  accepted,  and  he 
married  the  old  woman.  When  they  were  left  alone,  after 
the  ceremony,  he  turned  his  back  upon  her  in  disgust. 
She  pleads  with  him.) 

"  What  is  my  guilt  ?     For  Goddes  love,  tel  it. 
And  it  shal  been  amended,  if  I  may." 
"Amended!"  quod  this  knight,  "alias!  nay,  nay  I 
It  wol  nat  been  amended  nevere  mo, 
1100  Thou  art  so  loothly,  and  so  oold  also, 

1  licensed  begging  friars.       -  villages.      ^  stables.      ^  afternoons  (.'). 
^  limits  within  which  he  may  beg,  etc. 


CHAUCER  139 

And  ther-to  comen  of  so  lough  a  kynde, 

That  litel  wonder  is  thogh  I  walwe  and  wynde.^ 

So,  wolde  God  !  myn  herte  wolde  breste  !  " 

"  Is  this,"  quod  she,  "the  cause  of  youre  unreste  ?  " 
1 105  "Ye,  certainly,"  quod  he,  "no  wonder  is." 

"Now,  sire,"  quod  she,  "I  koude  amende  al  this. 

If  that  me  liste,  er  it  were  dayes  thre  ; 

So  wel  ye  myghte  here  yow  unto  me. 

But  for  ye  speken  of  swich  gentillesse 
1 1 10  As  is  descended  out  of  old  richesse 

That  therfore  sholden  ye  be  gentil  men, 

Swich  arrogance  is  nat  worth  an  hen. 

Looke,  who  that  is  moost  vertuous  alway, 

Pryvee "  and  apert,"  and  moost  entendeth  ay 
1 1 15  To  do  the  gentil  dedes  that  he  kan, 

Tak  hym  for  the  grettest  gentil  man. 

Crist  wole  we  clayme  of  hym  oure  gentillesse, 

Nat  of  oure  eldres  for  hire  old  richesse  ; 

For,  thogh  they  geve  us  al  hir  heritage,  — 
1 1 20  For  which  we  clayme  to  been  of  heigh  parage,*  — 

Yet  may  they  nat  biquethe  for  no  thyng. 

To  noon  of  us,  hir  vertuous  lyvyng, 

That  made  hem  gentil  men  y-called  be. 

And  bad  us  folwen  ^  hem  in  swich  degree. 

(She  adds  that,  so  far  as  his  objection  relates  to  her 
age  and  ugliness,  he  ought  to  be  well  pleased,  for  a  young 
and  beautiful  wife  might  give  him  much  trouble  by  her 
flightiness.) 

"  But  natheless,  syn  I  knowe  youre  delit, 
I  shal  fulfille  youre  worldly  appetit. 
Chese  now,"  quod  she,  "oon  of  thise  thynges  tweye  : 
1220  To  han  me  foul  and  old  til  that  I  deye, 
And  be  to  yow  a  trewe,  humble  wyf. 
And  nevere  yow  displese  in  al  my  lyf ; 

1  writhe  and  turn.       -  secret,       ^  open,       ■*  dignity.       ^  follow. 


140  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Or  elles  ye  wol  han  me  yong  and  fair. 
And  take  youre  aventure  of  the  repair 

1225  That  shal  be  to  youre  hous  by  cause  of  me, 
Or  in  som  oother  place  may  wel  be  ; 
Now  chese  yourselven,  wheither  that  yow  liketh." 

This  knyght  avyseth  hym  and  sore  siketh  ; ' 
But  atte  laste  he  seyde  in  this  manere  ; 

1230  "My  lady  and  my  love,  and  wyf  so  deere, 
I  put  me  in  youre  wise  governance  ; 
Cheeseth  youre  self  which  may  be  moost  plesance. 
And  moost  honour  to  yow  and  me  also  ; 
I  do  no  fors  *  the  wheither  of  the  two, 

1235   For  as  yow  liketh  it  suffiseth  me." 

"Thanne  have  I  gete  of  yow  maistrie,"  quod  she, 
-'  Syn  I  may  chese,  and  governe  as  me  lest  ?  " 
"Ye,  certes,  wyf,"  quod  he,  "I  holde  it  best." 
"  Kys  me,"  quod  she,  "we  be  no  lenger  wrothe, 

1240  For  by  my  trouthe,  I  wol  be  to  yow  bothe,  — 
This  is  to  seyn,  ye,  bothe  fair  and  good. 
I  prey  to  God  that  I  moote  sterven  "  wood,^ 
But  ■'  I  to  yow  be  al  so  good  and  trewe. 
As  evere  was  wyf  syn  that  the  world  was  newe  ; 

1245  And  but  I  be  to-morn  as  fair  to  scene 
As  any  lady,  emperice,  or  queene, 
That  is  bitwixe  the  est  and  eek  the  west, 
Dooth  wnth  my  lyf  and  deth  right  as  you  lest. 
Cast  up  the  curtyn,  —  looke,  how  that  it  is." 

1250       And  whan  the  knyght  saugh  verraily  al  this, 
That  she  so  fair  was,  and  so  yong  ther-to. 
For  joye  he  hente  hire  in  hise  armes  two. 
His  herte  bathed  in  a  bath  of  blisse; 
A  thousand  tyme  arewe  he  gan  hire  kisse, 

1255  And  she  obe5'ed  hym  in  every  thyng 

That  myghte  doon  hym  plesance  or  likyng. 

^  sigheth.       -  i.e.,  I  care  not.       ^  die.       ■*  mad.       ^  unless. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  END  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES 

41.  The  Chaucerian  School.  —  During  a  great  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century  England  was  at  war  either  with  France 
or  within  her  own  borders.  The  time  was  not  favorable 
to  literature,  but  it  was  by  no  means  so  barren  as  most 
historians  represent  it.  No  long  poem  of  the  highest 
grade  was  produced,  and  the  poets  whose  names  are 
best  known,  such  as  Lydgate  and  Occleve,  were  poor 
ones  ;  but  there  were  many  poets  of  less  repute  who  did 
pleasing  and  graceful  work,  and  there  was  one  great 
master  of  prose,   Sir  Thomas  Malory. 

About  forty  of  the  minor  poems  of  this  period  were 
formerly  attributed  to  Chaucer,  and  many  of  them  ^re 
to  be  found  in  the  older  editions  of  his  works.  It  is 
easy  for  modern  scholars  to  see,  by  linguistic  evidence, 
that  they  must  have  been  written  by  other  persons  ;  but 
a  superficial  resemblance  to  some  of  Chaucer's  work  was 
enough  to  deceive  the  earlier  editors.  Thus  the  achieve- 
ment of  Chaucer  was  exaggerated  by  many  thousand 
lines,  and  the  credit  of  the  fifteenth  century  correspond- 
ingly diminished,  on  the  principle  that  unto  him  that 
hath  shall  be  given,  but  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be 
taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath. 

One  obvious  reason  for  this  mistake  is  the  fact  that 
many  of  the  fifteenth-century  poets  purposely  imitated 

141 


142  EAKLV    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Chaucer.  They  felt  his  greatness  and  cordially  acknowl- 
edged it.  Occleve,  for  example,  has  the  following  lines 
in  the  prologue  of  his  principal  poem : 

O  maister  dere  and  fader  reverent, 

My  maister  Chaucer  !  floure  of  eloquence, 
Mirrour  of  fructuous  entendement, 

0  universal  fadir  in  science, 

Alias  !  that  thou  thyne  excellent  prudence 
In  thy  bedde  mortell  myghtest  not  bequethe ; 
What  eyled  Dethe  ?  alias  !  why  wold  he  sle  thee  ? 

0  Dethe,  that  didest  not  harme  singulere 

In  slaughtre  of  hym,  but  alle  this  lond  it  smerteth  ; 

But  natheless  yit  hast  thow  no  powere 

His  name  to  slee  ;  his  hye  vertu  asterteth 
Unslayne  fro  thee,  whiche  ay  us  lytly  herteth  * 

With  bookes  of  his  ornat  endityng, 

That  is  to  alle  this  londe  enlumynyng. 

And  about  the  middle  of  the  century  the  Scotch  poet, 
Henryson,  in  the  prologue  of  his  Testament  of  Cresseid, 
explains  how  he  happened  to  light  upon  his  subject : 

1  mend  -  the  fire,  and  beikit  "  me  about, 
Than  tuik  a  drink  my  spreitis  *  to  comfort. 

And  armit  me  weill  fra  the  cauld  thairout; 
To  cut  the  winter  nicht  and  mak  it  schort, 

1  tuik  ane  Quair,'  and  left  all  uther  sport, 
Writtin  be  worthie  Chaucer  glorious 

Of  fair  Cresseid  and  lusty  Troilus. 

Such  references  to  Chaucer  were  very  common.  Imi- 
tations of  him,  often  unavowed,  but  none  the  less  obvious, 
were  still  commoner.     As  wc  find,  however,  that  Gow-cr 

1  encourages.      -  mended.      '^  bustled.      ■*  spirits.      ^  quire,  book. 


THE    END    OF    THE    MIDDLE    AGES  I43 

was  praised  in  terms  only  less  high,  we  feel  cautious 
about  crediting  the  age  with  fine  literary  discrimination  ; 
and  we  are  not  surprised  to  find  that  most  of  the  imita- 
tions were  far  inferior  to  the  model.  The  later  poets 
seem  indeed  to  have  imitated  those  elements  in  Chaucer 
which  were  least  worth  imitating.  They  followed  him 
where  he  was  following  mediaeval  fashions,  but  they  were 
unable  even  to  enter  upon  the  paths  that  he  had  struck 
out  for  himself.  Consequently  we  find  hundreds  of  lines 
of  chivalrous  romance  and  allegory,  with  the  little  birds 
singing  in  the  May-time  and  the  poets  falling  asleep  to 
dream  of  the  god  of  love  ;  but  seldom  do  we  find  the 
strain  of  feeling  that  made  Chaucer's  mediasvalism 
modern,   or  the  touch   of  his  masterful  style. 

42.  The  Kingis  Quair  and  the  Court  of  Love.  —  King 
James  the  First  of  Scotland  was  captured  in  his  boyhood 
by  the  English,  and  grew  up  in  England  a  prisoner.  One 
of  the  best  poems  of  the  Chaucerian  school,  TJie  Kingis 
Quair  (King's  Book),  which  purports  to  have  been  (and 
perhaps  actually  was)  written  by  him,  tells  that  during 
his  captivity  he  saw  from  his  prison  window  the  beautiful 
Joan  Beaufort  walking  in  the  castle  garden  below,  and 
immediately  his  whole  heart  became  hers.  The  poet 
uses  the  machinery  of  the  Romannt  of  the  Rose,  telling 
us  that  while  the  lad}'  walked  there  the  birds  all  sang  a 
happy  chorus,  and  when  she  went  away  he  fell  asleep 
and  dreamed  that  he  was  transported  to  the  court  of 
Love,  where  he  prayed  to  Cupid  and  his  mother  for  aid 
in  his  extremity.  It  is  easy  to  see,  however,  that  this 
poet  treats  the  old  material  in  a  new  spirit  of  sincere 
fervor.      The  love  that  he  was  celebratino;  was  honest 


144  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

and  genuine,  and  the  quaint  symbolism  that  he  borrowed 
for  it  from  the  older  poets  had  for  him  a  deeper  meaning 
than  it  had  for  them.  Venus  told  him,  in  his  dream,  that 
he  must  go  to  Minerva  for  counsel,  and  the  latter,  after 
saying  that  there  were  different  ways  of  loving,  explained 
her  meaning  as  follows  : 

Lo,  my  gude  sone,  this  is  als  mich  to  seyne, 
As,  gif  ^  thy  lufe  sett '  all  utterly 

Of  nyce  lust,^  thy  travail  is  in  veyne  ; 
And  so  the  end  sail  turne  of  thy  folye 
To  payne  and  repentance  ;  lo,  wate  thou  quhy  ?■* 

Gif  the^  ne  list  on  lufe  thy  vertew  set, 

Vertu  sail  be  the  cause  of  thy  forfet.® 

Tak  him'  before  in  all  thy  governance, 
That  in  his  hand  the  stere  -  has  of  ;ou  all, 

And  pray  unto  his  hye  purveyance. 

Thy  lufe  to  gye,^  and  on  him  traist  and  call. 
That  corner-stone  and  ground  is  of  the  wall. 

That  failis  noght,  and  trust,  withoutin  drede, 

Unto  thy  purpose  sone  he  sail  the  lede. 

Be  trewe,  and  meke,  and  stedfast  in  thy  thoght, 

And  diligent  hir  merci  to  procure, 
Noght  onely  in  thy  word  ;  for  word  is  noght, 

Bot  gif  "  thy  werk  and  all  thy  besy  cure 

Accord  thereto.   .   .   . 

The  poet  who  wrote  this  was  evidently  something  more 
than  an  imitator,  and  the  following  dedicatory  stanza 
shows  rather  less  discrimination  than  might  have  been 
expected  of  him. 

1  if.      -  depends.      ^  on  foolish  desire.      *  knowest  thou  why  ?      ^  thee, 
fi  downfall.     "  /.£".,  God.     *  guidance.     '••  guide.     ^'J  but  if  =  unless. 


THE    END    OF   THE    MIDDLE    AGES  14? 

Unto  the  impnis  ^  of  my  maisteris  dere, 

Gowere  and  chaucere,  that  on  the  steppis  satt 

Of  rethorike,  quhill  ^  thai  were  lyvand  here, 
Superlative  as  poetis  laureate 
In  moralitee  and  eloquence  ornate, 

I  recommend  my  buk  in  lynis  sevin. 

And  eke  thair  saulis  unto  the  blisse  of  hevin.      Amen. 

TJie  Court  of  Love,  one  of  the  poems  formerly  attrib- 
uted to  Chaucer,  is  made  of  the  same  old  material  as  The 
Kiiigis  Quail'.  The  poet-lover  tells  us  that  he  went  to 
the  Court  of  Love  when  he  was  eighteen  years  of  age, 
and  there  at  the  king's  command  was  instructed  in  the 
laws  of  the  realm.  Twenty  statutes  are  set  forth  in  full 
as  he  found  them  in  the  statute-book  ;  but  it  is  clear, 
from  the  way  they  are  put,  that  this  poet  was  reviving 
the  old  forms  from  the  Romau7it  of  the  Rose  merely  in 
a  spirit  of  levity.  The  god  and  his  laws  are  no  more 
to  be  taken  seriously  than  the  King's  court  in  Alice  iti 
Wondcrhind.     Here  are  some  of  the  statutes  : 

The  eleventh  statut ;  —  Thy  signes  for  to  con  ^ 
With  y  and  finger,  and  with  smyles  soft. 

And  low  to  cough,  and  alway  for  to  shon, 
For  dred  of  spyes,  for  to  winken  oft : 
But  secretly  to  bring  a  sigh  a-loft. 

And  eke  beware  of  over-moch  resort ;  "* 

For  that,  paraventure,  spilleth  al  thy  sport. 

The  fifteenth  statut ;  —  Use  to  swere  and  stare, 

And  counterfet  a  lesing^  hardely. 
To  save  thy  ladys  honour  every-where, 

And  put  thyself  to  fight  for  her  boldly : 

1  hymns,  poems.       -  while.       '^  know.       *  company.       ^  falsehood. 


146  EARLY    EN-GLISH    LITERATURE 

Sey  she  is  good,  virtuous,  and  gostly,^ 
Clere  of  entent,  and  herte,  and  thought  and  wille  ; 
And  argue  not,  for  reson  ne  for  skille, 

Agayn  thy  ladys  plesir  ne  entent, 

For  love  wil  not  be  countrepleted,  indede: 

Sey  as  she  seith,  than  shalt  thou  not  be  shent,- 
"  The  crow  is  whyte ;  ye,  truly,  so  I  rede  :  " 
And  ay  what  thing  that  she  thee  will  forbede, 

Eschew  all  that,  and  give  her  sovereintee, 

Her  appetyt  folow  in  all  degree. 

The  poet  of  T/ic  Kingis  Quair  would  hardly  have 
admitted  into  his  statute-book  a  law  which  recognized  the 
necessity  of  lying  to  save  the  honor  of  one's  lady.  A 
little  farther  on  in  The  Coiirt  of  Love  the  author's  comic 
and  satiric  purpose  becomes  yet  more  apparent.  He 
says  he  read  through  all  the  statutes  relating  to  men, 
^\^th  an  officer  of  the  court  named  Rigor  watching  him  ; 
and  then, 

I  turned  leves,  loking  on  this  boke. 

Where  other  statuts  were  of  women  shene  ; " 

And  right  furthwith  Rigour  on  me  gan  loke 
Full  angrily,  and  seid  unto  the  queue 
I  traitour  was,  and  charged  me  let  been  : 

"There  may  no  man,"  quod  he,  "the  statuts  know. 

That  long  to  woman,  hy  degree  ne  low." 

And  at  the  end  of  the  poem  there  is  another  touch  of 
humor.  We  are  told  that  it  is  Ma}-day,  and  that  the 
birds  are  singing  psalms  and  anthems  in  the  trees ;  the 
description  of  their  chorus  is  prettily  done  ;  indeed  it  is 
one  of  the  daintiest  of  all  these  ornithological  passages  ; 

1  holy.  -  rejected.  '  fair. 


THE   END    OE   THE    MIDDLE    AGES  1 47 

but  after  all  the  other  birds  have  had  their  turn,  the 
cuckoo  pipes  up.  He,  it  will  be  understood,  is  a  bird  of 
ill-omen  to  all  true  lovers. 

And  furth  the  cokkow  gan  precede  anon, 
With  '■'■  Benedictiis'^  thanking  god  in  hast. 

That  in  til  is  May  wold  visit  thaim  echon, 

And  gladden  thaim  all  whyl  the  fest  shal  last : 
And  therewithal!  a-loughter  out  he  brast, 

"  I  thank  it  god  that  I  shuld  end  the  song, 

And  all  the  service  which  hath  been  so  long." 

It  should  be  noted  that  while  the  author  of  The 
Kingis  Qiiair  and  the  author  of  The  Court  of  Love 
seem  men  of  radically  different  temperaments,  they 
have  this  at  least  in  common  :  they  are  not  satisfied 
with  the  old  hollow  conventions  of  court  allegory. 
They  express  their  dissatisfaction  in  different  ways,  one 
by  an  attempt  at  radical  reform,  the  other  by  a  light- 
hearted  parody.  Each  in  his  way  was  a  sincerer  artist 
than  the  original  poet  of  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  for 
each  was  nearer  to  real  life ;  though  in  the  second  of 
our  two  poets  we  find  realism  only  in  so  far  as  he  pricks 
the  bubble  of  the  conventional  romance.  His  poem  is 
to  the  true  court  allegory  what  the  fabliau  was  to  the 
romance. 

All  the  poems  thus  far  quoted  in  this  chapter  were 
written  in  a  stanza-form  known  as  the  "rime  royal," 
owing  to  its  use  by  the  author  of  The  Kingis  Quair.  It 
had  been  a  favorite  stanza  with  Chaucer,  appearing, 
for  example,  in  Troilus  and  Cressida,  and  was  naturall)' 
popular  with  his  imitators. 


148  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

43.  Maundevile's  Travels.  —  A  remarkable  book  of 
travels,  purporting  to  be  by  Sir  John  Maundevile,  was 
first  published  in  French  about  1360,  and  translated  into 
English  perhaps  half  a  century  later.  The  author  was 
probably  John  de  Bourgogne  ;  and  certainly  Maundevile 
himself,  the  traveler,  was  as  purely  a  fictitious  person  as 
Gulliver  or  Robinson  Crusoe.  The  book  seems  to  have 
been  made  up  partly  from  the  author's  imagination  and 
partly  from  the  stories  of  earlier  travelers,  and  it  is  with- 
out any  value  as  a  record  of  fact  ;  but  it  is  a  very  enter- 
taining work,  and  is  not  without  interest  for  the  serious 
student  of  mediaeval  thought.  A  few  passages,  selected 
almost  at  random,  will  illustrate  its  character. 

In  Ethiope  alle  the  ryveres  and  alle  the  watres  ben 
trouble,  and  thai  ben  somdelle  salte,  for  the  gret  hete 
that  is  there.  And  the  folk  of  that  contree  ben  lyghtly 
dronken,  and  han  but  litille  appetyt  to  mete :  and  thei 
lyven  not  longe.  In  Ethiope  ben  many  dyverse  folk :  and 
Ethiope  is  clept  Cusis.  In  that  contree  ben  folk,  that  han 
but  o  foot :  and  thei  gon  so  fast  that  it  is  marvaylle  :  and 
the  foot  is  so  large  that  it  schadewethe  alle  the  body  a^en 
the  Sonne,  whanne  theiwole  lye  and  reste  hem.  In  Ethiope, 
whan  the  children  ben  ^onge  and  lytille,  thei  ben  alle  :;elo\ve  : 
and  whan  that  thei  wexen  of  age,  that  ^alownesse  turnethe 
to  ben  alle  blak. 

In  passynge  be  the  lond  of  Cathaye,  toward  the  highe 
Ynde,  and  toward  Bacharye,  men  passen  be  a  kyngdom 
that  men  clepen  Caldilhe  :  that  is  a  fulle  fair  contree.  And 
there  growethe  a  maner  of  fruyt,  as  thoughe  it  weren 
gowrdes :  and  whan  thei  ben  rype,  men  kutten  hem  a  to, 
and  men  fynden  with  inne  a  lytylle  best,  in  flessche,  in  bon 
and  blode,  as  though  it  were  a  lytylle  lomb,  with  outen 


THE    END    OF    THE    MIDDLE    AGES  I49 

vvolle.  And  men  eten  bothe  the  frut  and  the  best :  and 
that  is  a  gret  marveylle.  Of  that  frute  I  have  eten  ;  alle 
thoughe  it  were  wondirfulle  :  but  that  I  knowe  wel,  that 
God   is  marveyllous  in  his  werkes. 

And  alle  be  it  that  men  fynden  gode  dyamandes  in 
Ynde,  ^it  natheless  men  fynden  hem  more  comounly  upon 
the  roches  in  the  see,  and  upon  hilles  where  the  myne  of 
gold  is.  And  thei  growen  many  to  gedre,  on  lytille,  an- 
other gret.  And  ther  ben  sume  of  the  gretnesse  of  a  bene, 
and  sume  als  grete  as  an  haselle  note.  And  thei  ben 
square  and  poynted  of  here  owne  kynde,  bothe  aboven 
and  benethen,  with  outen  worchinge  of  mannes  hond. 
And  thei  growen  to  gedre,  male  and  femele.  And  thei 
ben  norysscht  with  the  dew  of  hevene.  And  thei  engen- 
dren  comounly,  and  bryngen  forthe  smale  children,  that 
multiplyen  and  growen  alle  the  ^eer.  I  have  often  tymes 
assayed,  that  3if  a  man  kepe  hem  with  a  litylle  of  the  roche, 
and  wete  hem  with  May  dew  ofte  sithes,  thei  schulle  growe 
everyche  ^eer  ;  and  the  smale  wole  wexen  grete.  For  righte 
as  the  fyn  perl  congelethe  and  wexethe  gret  of  the  dew  of 
hevene,  righte  so  dothe  the  verray  dyamand :  and  righte 
as  the  perl  of  his  owne  kynde  takethe  roundnesse,  righte  so 
the  dyamand,  be  vertu  of  God,  takethe  squarenesse.  And 
men  schalle  bere  the  dyamaund  on  his  left  syde  :  for  it  is 
of  grettere  vertue  thanne,  than  on  the  righte  syde.  For 
the  strengthe  of  here  growynge  is  toward  the  Northe,  that 
is  the  left  syde  of  the  world  ;  and  the  left  parte  of  man  is, 
whan  he  turnethe  his  face  toward  the  Est. 

Maundevile's  natural  philosophy  is  characteristic  of 
his  tinie.  During  the  middle  ages  science  not  only 
made  little  progress  ;  in  some  departments  it  actually 
lost  ground.  The  reason  for  this  is  undoubtedly  to 
be  found   chiefly  in  the  character  of  mediaeval  religion. 


150  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

Asceticism  dominated  the  world  of  thought  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  best  minds  regarded  mundane  specula- 
tion as  folly.  Why  should  man  waste  time  in  observa- 
tion of  material  phenomena,  when  so  few  years  were 
allotted  him  to  provide  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul  ? 
The  conviction  deepened  that  the  Bible  and  the  early 
fathers  of  the  church  were  the  sources  of  all  useful 
knowledge ;  and  so  the  habit  grew,  all  through  the 
middle  ages,  of  deriving  information  not  from  nature 
but  from  old  and  approved  authorities.  "  IVIajor  est 
scripturae  auctoritas,"  wrote  St.  Augustine,  "  quam 
omnis  humani  ingenii  capacitas ; "  and  this  was  the 
golden  text  of  all  mediaeval  philosophy.  When  nature 
was  studied  at  all,  it  was  likely  to  be  studied  in  a  mys- 
tical spirit.  The  world  was  God's  creation,  the  expres- 
sion in  matter  of  God's  eternal  mind  ;  and  the  study 
of  nature  was  thought  profitable  only  because  it  was 
a  way  of  contemplating  Him.  This  mystical  method 
destroyed  science.  When,  for  example,  a  learned  man 
saw  a  flock  of  gulls  fishing,  he  did  not  think  of  observ- 
ing their  habits  ;  he  thought  only^  of  the  insatiate  appe- 
tite of  the  devil  for  men's  souls.  The  belief  that  the 
lion  dragged  dust  after  him  with  his  tail,  in  order  to 
hide  his  footsteps,  was  not  questioned,  for  it  was  au- 
thorized by  holy  fathers  and  it  symbolized  the  secret 
origin  of  our  Saviour.  Natural  phenomena  had  a  higher 
value  than  for  laboratory  purposes. 

Nevertheless,  Maundevile  shows  some  glimmering 
comprehension  of  scientific  method.  The  following 
extracts  are  far  more  advanced,  in  their  scientific 
spirit,  than  the  jiassage  about  diamonds. 


THE    END    OF    THE    Mn)l)EE    AGES  151 

In  that  lond,  ne  in  many  othere  be^onde  that,  no  man 
may  see  the  Sterre  transmontane,  that  is  clept  the  Sterre  of 
the  See,  that  is  unmevable,  and  that  is  toward  the  Northe, 
that  we  clepen  the  Lode  Sterre.  But  men  seen  another 
sterre,  the  contrarie  to  him,  that  is  toward  the  Southe,  that 
is  clept  Antartyk.  .  .  .  For  whiche  cause,  men  may  wel 
perceyve  that  the  lond  and  the  see  ben  of  rownde  schapp 
and  forme.     For  the  partie  of  the  firmament  schewethe  in 

0  contree,  that  schewethe  not  in  another  contree.  And 
men  may  well  preven  be  experience  and  sotyle  compasse- 
ment  of  wytt,  that  ;if  a  man  fond  passages  be  schippes, 
that  wolde  go  to  serchen  the  world,  men  myghte  go  be 
schippe  alle  aboute  the  world,  and  aboven  and  benethen. 
The  whiche  thing  I  prove  thus,  aftre  that  I  have  seyn.  .  .  . 

1  have  gon  toward  the  parties  meridionales,  that  is  toward 
the  Southe,  and  I  have  founden  that  in  Lybye  men  seen 
first  the  Sterre  Antartyk.  And  so  fer  I  have  gon  more 
forthe  in  tho  contrees,  that  I  have  founde  that  sterre  more 
highe;  so  that  toward  the  highe  Lybye  it  is  18  degrees 
of  heghte  and  certeyn  minutes  (of  the  whiche,  60  minutes 
maken  a  degree).  ...  Be  the  whiche  I  seye  30U  certeynly 
that  men  may  envirowne  alle  the  Erthe  of  alle  the  world, 
as  wel  undre  as  aboven,  and  turnen  a^en  to  his  contree, 
that  hadde  companye  and  schippynge  and  conduyt.  .  .  . 
Also  ^ee  have  herd  me  seye  that  Jerusalem  is  in  the  myddes 
of  the  world  ;  and  that  may  men  preven  and  schewen  there 
be  a  spere,  that  is  pighte  in  to  the  erthe,  upon  the  hour  of 
mydday,  whan  it  is  Equenoxium,  that  schewethe  no  schadwe 
on  no  syde. 

The  argument  that  the  earth  is  round  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  scientific  reasoning.  Maundevile's  premises  are 
inaccurate,  for  there  is  no  such  star  as  the  "  Sterre 
Antartyk  ;  "  but  his  method  is  distinctly  better  than 
reasoning  that  the  world  must  be  round,  because  God 


152  KAKLV    ENGLISH    LITERATI"  Rt 

made  it  and  the  circle  is  the  perfect  figure.  His  iden- 
tification of  the  center  of  the  earth  with  Jerusalem  is 
established  by  similarly  questionable  means,  for  it  is  not 
true  that  a  spear  placed  erect  will  cast  no  shadow  there 
at  the  time  of  the  equinox  ;  but  there  was  more  hope 
for  science  in  such  an  argument  than  in  the  usual 
contention  that  it  must  be  so,  for  the  prophet  Ezekiel 
said  so. 

44.  Ballads.  —  At  the  present  time  we  depend  for 
our  literature  almost  wholly  upon  books  and  papers,  yet 
e\-cn  now  there  are  some  popular  songs  well  known  to 
thousands  of  people,  which  it  would  be  hard  to  find  in 
l)rint.  A  few  centuries  ago  literature  of  this  sort  was 
very  common,  and  not  a  few  of  the  ballads  that  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth  in  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and 
sixteenth  centuries  have  survived  by  oral  tradition  even 
to  our  own  time.  The  term  "ballad"  is  often  loosely 
used  for  almost  any  kind  of  song,  but  more  strictly  it  is 
applied  to  these  traditional  songs  of  the  people.  We 
do  not  know  who  composed  them,  nor  (in  most  cases) 
how  old  they  are.  They  are  generally  narrative  poems, 
and  they  tell  stories  which  were  doubtless  popularly 
known  before  the  ballads  took  shape  ;  but  just  how  these 
stories  crept  from  mere  tradition  into  verse,  we  cannot 
tell.  It  is  generally  agreed  that  the  fifteenth  century 
was  especially  productive  of  ballads,  and  for  that  reason 
they  are  considered  in  this  chapter  ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  they  were  not  then  a  new  thing,  and 
that  they  did  not  then  die  out.  Many  of  them  have 
close  parallels  in  other  Indo-European  languages,  which 
seem    to  suggest   for    their    substance,  and  sometimes 


THE    END    OF    THE    Mn)DLE    AGES  1 53 

even  for  their  form,  a  very  great  antiquit)'  ;  while 
others,  seemingly  of  the  same  general  character,  are 
founded  upon  actual  events  known  to  have  occurred 
as  late  as  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  favorite  fomi  of  the  true  popular  ballad  is  the 
so-called  "  ballad  stanza  "  : 

In  somer,  when  the  shawes  ^  be  sheyne," 

And  leves  be  large  and  long, 
Hit  is  full  mery  in  feyre  foreste 

To  here  the  foulys  song ; 

To  se  the  dere  draw  to  the  dale. 

And  leve  the  hilles  hee, 
And  shadow  hem  in  the  leves  grene. 

Under  the  grene-wode  tre. 

Many  of  the  ballads  are  cheap  and  vulgar,  while  many 
(like  the  verses  just  quoted)  have  an  exquisite  beauty 
which  few  of  our  more  lettered  poets  can  rival  ;  but 
absolute  simplicity  is  characteristic  of  them  all.  They 
tell  of  the  sort  of  incidents  and  emotions  that  appeal  to 
the  popular  heart,  and  they  speak  the  popular  language. 
Stories  of  crime,  of  love,  of  enchantment  are  common  ; 
and  the  heroes  are  knights,  or  squires,  or  minstrels,  or 
(better  still)  outlaws  who  live  "  under  the  grene-wode 
tre."  All,  however,  are  seen  from  the  people's  point  of 
\iew.  If  a  ballad  tells  the  tragedy  of  a  noble  lady's 
life,  it  puts  the  essential  pathos  poignantly,  for  there  is 
no  monopoly  in  suffering ;  but  it  generally  has  some 
minor  touches  which  show  that  the  unessentials  of 
aristocratic   life  are   \'iewed   from   far  away.     The   fol- 

1  groves.  -  beautiful. 


154  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

lowing  Stanzas,  for  example,  form  the  conclusion  of  the 
Ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spcns.  Sir  Patrick  had  been  sent 
to  sea  on  a  mad  \oyage  in  midwinter,  and  he  and  all 
the  Scots  nobles  with  him  were  lost.  It  will  be  seen 
that  the  grief  of  the  mourners  is  genuinely  felt,  but  that 
the  world  they  live  in  is  to  the  unkno^\^l  poet  like  a 
far-away  world  of  popular  romance. 

O  lang,  lang  may  their  ladies  sit, 

\Vi  thair  fans  into  their  hand. 
Or  eir  they  se  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Cum  sailing  to  the  land. 

()  lang,  lang  may  the  ladies  stand, 
Wi  thair  gold  kems  in  their  hair, 

\\'aiting  for  thair  ain  deir  lords. 
For  they  '11  se  thame  na  mair. 

Haf  owre,  haf  owre  to  Aberdour, 

It  's  fiftie  fadom  deip. 
And  thair  lies  guid  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feit. 

Robin  Hood,  the  m}thical  hero  of  popular  legend,  is  the 
central  figure  in  some  of  the  best  ballads,  and  about 
him  are  clustered  a  number  of  satellites,  such  as  Little 
John,  Maid  Marian,  Will  Scarlett,  and  Friar  Tuck,  just 
as  Launcelot,  Gawayne,  and  Guinevere  grouped  them- 
selves about  the  hero  of  the  great  cycle  of  court 
romance.  Indeed,  some  of  the  ballads  are  mere  popu- 
larized abridgments  of  the  old  romances  ;  but  these  are 
generally  far  inferior  to  those  of  wholly  popular  origin. 
The  latter,  too,  are  noteworthy   in   literary  history  as 


THE    END    OF    THE    MIDDLE    AGES  1 55 

almost   the   only  part  of  our  mediaeval   literature   that 
owed  nothing  to  French  influence. 

The  following  ballad,  known  as  Edivard,  is  one  of 
the  best  that  are  short  enough  to  be  given  here  com- 
plete. The  text  is  of  uncertain  age,  but  the  substance 
must  be  very  old,  for  it  is  found  among  the  popular 
ballads  of  Sweden  and   Denmark. 

Quhy  dois  ^our  brand  sae  drop  wi'  bluid, 

P^dward,  E^dward  ? 
Quhy  dois  ;our  brand  sae  drop  wi'  bluid, 

And  quhy  sae  sad  gang  ;ee,  O  ? 
O  I  hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid, 

Mither,  mither : 
()  I  hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid. 
And  I  had  nae  mair  bot  hee,  () ! 

3our  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

Edward,  Edward : 
3our  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

My  deir  son  I  tell  thee,  O  ! 
O  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

Mither,  mither : 
O  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

That  erst  was  sae  fair  and  free,  O  ! 

3our  steid  was  auld,  and  ;e  hae  gat  mair, 

Edward,  Edward  : 
3our  steid  was  auld,  and  ^e  hae  gat  mair. 

Sum  other  dule  ^  ^e  drie,'^  O  ! 
O  I  hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 

Mither,  mither : 
O  I  hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 
Alas,  and  wae  is  mee,  O  ! 

1  sorrow.  -  suffer. 


156  KAKLV    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

And  quhatten  penance  wul  ^e  drie  for  that, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhatten  penance  wul  ;e  drie  for  that  ? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me,  O. 
He  set  my  feit  in  ;onder  boat, 
Mither,  mither : 
He  set  my  feit  in  ponder  boat, 
And  He  fare  ovir  the  sea,  O. 

And  quhat  wul  ^e  doe  wi'  :;our  towirs  and  ;our  ha', 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhat  wul  ^e  doe  wi'  :50ur  towirs  and  ;our  ha'. 

That  were  sae  fair  to  see,  O  ? 
He  let  thame  stand  til  they  doun  fa', 

Mither,  mither : 
He  let  thame  stand  til  they  doun  fa'. 
For  here  nevir  mair  maun  I  bee,  O. 

And  quhat  wul  ^e  leive  to  ^our  bairns  and  jour  wife, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhat  wul  :5e  leive  to  jour  bairns  and  jour  wife, 

Quhan  je  gang  ovir  the  sea,  O  ? 
The  warldis  room,  let  them  beg  throw-  life, 

Mither,  mither: 
The  warldis  room,  let  them  beg  throw  life. 
For  thame  nevir  mair  wul  I  see,  O. 

And  quhat  wul  je  leive  to  jour  ain  mither  deir, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  quhat  wul  je  leive  to  jour  ain  mither  deir  ? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me,  O. 
The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  je  beir, 

Mither,  mither  : 
The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  je  beir, 
Sic  counsels  je  gave  to  me,  O. 


THE    END    OF    THE    MIDDLE    AGES  157 

It  is  remarkable  that  at'  the  times  when  these  ballads 
flourished  they  were  not  regarded  as  literature  at  all. 
They  were  sung  or  recited  by  harpists  or  fiddlers  in 
village  market-places,  and  were  taught  by  grandmothers 
to  their  children's  children  as  snatches  of  nursery  rime 
are  taught  nowadays  ;  but  until  comparatively  modern 
times  the  literary  classes  seem  to  have  paid  them  little 
attention.  After  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century 
the  educated  world  "  discovered  "  them,  and  their  sim- 
plicity, their  tragic  intensity,  their  extraordinary  beauty, 
were  among  the  chief  influences  in  the  great  revolution 
in  literary  taste  that  then  took  place.  Little  space  is 
accorded  to  them  here,  because  during  their  centuries 
of  subterranean  existence  they  had  no  influence  upon 
the  general  history  of  literature ;  but  they  are  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  the  student  of  eighteenth  and 
nineteenth-century  poetry,  and  are  an  endless  delight 
to  the  general  reader. 

45.  Dramatic  Entertainments.  —  We  have  seen  that  the 
Wife  of  Bath  was  fond  of  going  to  "  pleyes  of  myra- 
cles."  Miracle  Plays  had  been  a  common  form  of  pop- 
ular entertainment  long  before  her  time,  and  they 
continued  in  favor  till '  they  were  superseded  by  the 
drama  of  Shakespeare's  age.  They  had  been  originally 
mere  dramatizations  of  Biblical  stories,  presented  in 
church  by  the  clergy  for  the  instruction  and  edification 
of  the  unlettered  laity  ;  but  in  the  thirteenth  century 
the  town  guilds  (organizations  somewhat  like  the  mod- 
ern trades'  unions)  took  them  up  and  began  giving  them 
regularly  in  public  places,  just  as  a  modern  college  fra- 
ternity or  regiment  of  militia  may  give  an  operetta  or  a 


158  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

play.  There  were  no  theatre's,  but  none  were  needed 
for  such  simple  representations  as  were  then  found  sat- 
isfactory. The  guilds  performed  on  pageants,  large 
movable  stages  not  unlike  our  circus  vans  or  mail 
wagons,  with  room  inside  to  dress,  and  room  on  top  for 
acting.  At  a  time  previously  announced,  one  of  these 
pageants,  drawn  (let  us  suppose)  by  some  members  of 
the  guild  of  Tanners,  would  appear  in  the  market-place 
of  the  town,  or  at  some  suitable  street -corner,  and  stop 
there.  WTien  all  was  ready,  those  of  the  guild  who 
were  chosen  to  do  the  acting  would  appear  on  the  top 
and  perform  a  little  play  about  the  Creation  ;  and  when 
it  was  ended,  the  pageant  would  be  drawn  away,  to  give 
its  play  again  in  some  other  part  of  the  town.  Mean- 
while, another  pageant,  provided  by  the  guild  of  Tallow- 
chandlers,  arrives  and  portrays  the  temptation  and  fall 
of  man.  After  this  comes  a  long  series  of  plays,  run- 
ning perhaps  through  the  whole  period  of  Old  Testa- 
ment history  ;  and  the  audience  spend  the  whole  of  a 
holiday  watching  them. 

Another  kind  of  dramatic  entertainment  common  in 
the  later  middle  ages  was  the  Morality  Play.  This  was 
a  dramatized  moral  allegory.  The  play  of  Evcryvian, 
for  example,  tells  how  God  sends  Death  to  Ever)'man  to 
summon  him  to  judgment.  Ever}'man  is  reluctant,  but 
finds  that  he  cannot  disobey  the  summons.  He  goes 
to  a  friend  named  Fellowship  and  tells  him  that  he  is  in 
trouble,  and  Fellowship  makes  extravagant  protestations 
of  eagerness  to  do  anything  for  him  ;  but  when  he 
learns  that  Everyman  wants  him  to  go  on  a  long  jour- 
ney at  the  bidding  of  Death,  he  backs  out  and  leaves 


THE    END    OF   THE    Mn:)DLE    AGES  1 59 

Everyman  alone  in  his  despair.  The  hero  of  the  play 
then  consults  Good  Deeds,  but  she  says  he  has  neglected 
her  so  long  that  she  can  do  nothing  for  him.  In  like 
manner  every  resource  fails  him,  until  he  makes  the 
acquaintance  of  Confession  and  does  penance  for  his 
sins.  After  that  Good  Deeds  promises  to  stay  by  him 
to  the  end,  and  he  dies  in  peace. 

The  fifteenth  century  saw  both  Miracle  and  Morality 
Plays  at  the  height  of  their  popularity,  but  the  former 
and  probably  also  the  latter  had  existed  long  before. 
It  is  sometimes  supposed  that  the  Moralities  grew  out 
of  the  Miracle  Plays,  but  it  is  more  likely  that  they 
grew  up  separately.  Both  were  manifestations  of  a 
dramatic  instinct  which  seems  always  to  have  existed  in 
the  English  race.  The  fabliaux  and  the  ballads  and 
the  romances  could  not  be  well  sung  or  recited  without 
a  good  deal  of  action  and  dramatic  expression,  and  the 
two  species  of  plays  were  simply  two  set  forms  in  which 
the  same  dramatic  instinct  manifested  itself. 

The  Moralities  interest  us  chiefly  as  being  the  germ 
from  which,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  regular  drama 
developed  ;  but  they  are  interesting  also  as  presenting 
mediaeval  allegory  in  one  of  its  latest  stages.  We  have 
seen  how  allegory  sprang  from  the  mystical  habit  of  see- 
ing deep  meanings  in  natural  phenomena.  From  this 
grew  the  literary  fashion  of  personifying  abstractions, 
as  was  done  in  Piers  Ploivman,  for  example,  and  in 
the  chivalrous  court  allegory.  In  the  later  middle  ages, 
however,  allegory  seems  to  have  lost  its  first  mysterious 
charm,  and  to  have  been  used  simply  because  it  was  the 
fashion.      In  Piers  Ploivmaii  it  is  evident  that  the  poet 


l6o  EARLY    ENGLISH    L1TE1>L\TURE 

was  only  half  at  case  —  that  he  was  always  tempted  to 
individualize  his  abstract  characters.  He  gives,  for 
example,  an  elaborate  account  of  the  Se\en  Deadly 
Sins  ;  but  "  Gluttony  "  is  not  a  mere  personification  ;  he 
is  a  very  human  glutton,  evidently  drawn  from  Lang- 
land's  actual  observation  among  the  lower  classes. 
"  Covetousness "  has  a  wife  named  Rose,  who  keeps 
a  retail  shop  at  Westminster,  goes  to  the  fair  at  Win- 
chester, cheats  with  false  cloth  measures,  etc.  ;  and 
so  through  the  list.  The  characters  are  Sins  in  name 
onh'  ;  in  fact,  they  are  individual  sinners.  In  the 
Moralities  we  find  the  same  tendency  toward  concrete- 
ncss.  The  earlier  writers  were  content  with  such 
heroes  as  "Everyman"  or  "Humanity,"  while  the  minor 
characters  were  mere  personifications  of  vices  and  vir- 
tues, or  other  abstract  ideas  ;  and  the  plots  were  strict 
allegories  representing  the  conflict  between  virtue  and 
temptation.  Later  plays,  however,  are  limited  less  and 
less  by  the  exact  significance  of  the  names  of  the  char- 
acters, the  dramatis  pcrsonae  become  more  and  more 
like  individuals,  and  the  plots  are  constructed  as  much 
for  entertainment  as  for  moral  instruction.  The  devil 
figured  conspicuously,  and  while  in  the  earliest  plays  he 
must  have  impressed  the  spectators  with  horror  and 
fear,  in  later  ones  he  was  an  extravagant  burlesque, 
equipped  with  a  long  tail  and  intended  almost  solely  to 
raise  a  laugh.  Another  stock  character,  known  specif- 
ically as  "The  Vice,"  frequently  consorted  with  him, 
and  in  the  later  plays  is  made  equally  ludicrous.  Comic 
episodes  abound,  in  which  the  characters  (especially  the 
vices)  play  absurd  jokes  upon  one  another,  some  of  them 


THE    END    OF    THE    MIDDLE    AGES  l6l 

being  much  more  like  circus  clowns  than  solemn  allegor- 
ical abstractions.  Indeed,  the  "clown"  or  "fool"  of 
the  later  drama  is  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Vice  of  the 
Morality.  This  tendency  to  concreteness  was  a  natural 
result  of  the  dramatic  form,  for  the  stage  is  a  place  for 
individuals  rather  than  for  allegory  ;  but  it  was  also  a 
symptom  of  the  passing  of  mediaeval  mysticism,  and 
presents  a  close  parallel  to  the  satirical  touch  given  to 
chivalrous  allegory  in  such  poems  as  TJie  Court  of  Love. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE   RENAISSANCE 

46.  Caxton.  —  The  process  of  printing  with  movable 
types  was  invented  on  the  continent  just  before  the 
middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  within  the  next  two 
decades  several  printing  offices  were  established  there. 
At  this  time  William  Caxton,  an  English  merchant,  was 
engaged  in  business  at  Bruges.  He  was  a  lover  of 
literature,  and  was  quick  to  see  both  the  literary  and 
the  commercial  opportunities  in  the  new  art.  Coming 
home  to  England  in  1476,  he  brought  with  him  printing 
presses  and  fonts  of  type,  and  opened  the  first  English 
printing  house  in  the  neighborhood  of  Westminster 
Abbey.  In  1477  he  published  the  first  book  printed  on 
English  soil,  entitled  Dictcs  ajid  Sayings  of  the  Philos- 
ophers. Other  books  followed  in  rapid  succession,  some 
new,  others  reissues  of  books  long  known  in  manuscript. 
Caxton's  choice  of  books  for  printing  was  largely  guided 
by  his  business  instinct,  but  his  literary  tastes  prompted 
him  to  print  all  the  best  books  available  in  the  language, 
and  he  translated  many  French  books  for  the  press  with 
his  own  hand.  Among  the  standard  works  that  he  printed 
were  the  Canterbury  Tales,  the  Confessio  Amantis,  Rey- 
7iard  the  Fox,  and  translations  of  some  of  Cicero's  moral 
essays.  The  most  celebrated  of  the  new  books  from 
his  press  was   Malory's  Morte  DartJuir. 

162 


THE    RENAISSANCE  l6$ 

The  invention  of  printing  made  the  Renaissance 
possible.  The  immediate  result  was  a  great  reduction 
in  the  price  of  books,  and  a  correspondingly  great 
increase  in  the  supply.  A  few  figures  will  show  the 
importance  of  the  change.  The  following  items  are 
from  the  bill  of  a  professional  copyist,  for  work  done 
in   1468  at  his  employer's  order: 

Itm  for  De  Regimine  Principum,  which  conteyneth 

xlv  leves,  after  a  peny  a  leef,  which  is  right  s.  d. 

wele  worth,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .         iii  ix 

Itm  for  Rubrissheyng  of  all  the  booke,       .  .         iii  iv 

The  price,  it  seems,  was  a  penny  a  leaf  for  the  mere 
copying  of  an  ordinary  page  of  verse,  and  nearly  as 
much  more  for  simple  decoration  of  margins,  initial 
letters,  etc.,  in  red  ink.  For  copying  solid  prose  a 
double  price  was  charged,  so  that  a  volume  of  moderate 
size,  with  the  ordinary  embellishments,  would  cost  from 
threepence  to  fourpence  a  leaf.  The  price  seems  small 
enough,  but  all  prices  were  low  in  the  fifteenth  century. 
An  ox  could  be  bought  for  twenty  shillings,  a  sheep  for 
two,  and  a  pound  of  butter  for  a  penny ;  and  the  wages 
of  a  skilled  workman  were  only  about  sixpence  a  day. 
In  general,  money  went  ten  or  twelve  times  as  far  as  it 
will  go  now,  but  it  was  more  than  ten  or  twelve  times 
as  hard  to  get.  Fourpence  a  leaf  then  was,  therefore, 
about  equivalent  to  a  dollar  a  leaf  now.  A  simple  cal- 
culation will  show  that  to  the  average  man  of  that  time 
a  book  was  as  expensive  as  a  horse  is  to-day,  and  a  little 
library  of  three  or  four  shelves  was  an  almost  impossible 
luxury. 


l64  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

We  do  not  know  the  prices  at  which  Caxton  sold  his 
works,  but  we  have  a  record  of  two  appraisals,  shortly 
after  his  death,  of  one  of  his  largest  and  most  elegant 
folios  —  the  Golden  Legend.  This  was  a  book  of  449 
leaves,  and  the  higher  of  the  two  values  known  to  have 
been  put  upon  it  was  i  ^s.  ^d.  Comparing  this  with  the 
figures  given  above,  even  without  allowing  for  the  differ- 
ence in  size  between  Caxton' s  folio  and  the  paper  used 
by  the  earlier  copyist,  we  get  the  inference  that  the 
immediate  effect  of  the  new  art  was  to  reduce  the  cost 
of  books  to  about  one-tenth  what  it  had  been.  We  have 
not  sufficient  data  for  exact  comparisons,  but  it  is  certain 
that  the  reduction  was  very  great,  and  these  figures  are 
sufficiently  accurate  for  illustration. 

47.  Skelton.  —  The  end  of  the  fifteenth  and  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  a  period  of 
transition  between  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renais- 
sance. The  mediaeval  ideals  had  been  shattered,  but 
nothing  was  yet  ready  to  take  their  place.  The  church 
had  lost  hold,  but  the  Reformation  had  not  yet  begun. 
The  monasteries  in  general  had  ceased  to  be  seats  of 
learning  and  centers  of  spiritual  influence.  The  last 
vestige  of  chivalry  had  been  effaced  by  the  Wars  of  the 
Roses,  which  had  devastated  England  through  a  great 
part  of  the  fifteenth  century' ;  for  whole  families  of 
noble  blood  had  been  annihilated,  and  gunpowder  and 
ball  had  conclusively  proved  their  superiority  to  knightly 
accoutrements.  Peace  had  come  in  1485,  with  the  ac- 
cession of  Henry  VII,  but  it  had  brought  no  revival 
of  ancient  chivalrous  glory,  no  great  awakening  in  the 
church,   nt)    renaissance    in    literature.       Henry's  reign 


THE    RENAISSANCE  165 

was  a  period  of  materialistic  commercialism,  in  which 
(to  characterize  it  sweepingly)  England  was  destitute 
of  spiritual  life,  ideals,  or  enthusiasm.  But  the  forces 
were  already  at  work  which  were  destined  to  bring  in 
the  Renaissance. 

The  poet  John  Skelton  was  typical  of  this  period. 
He  might  well  have  described  himself  in  Matthew 
Arnold's  phrase  as 

Wandering  between  two  worlds,  one  dead, 
The  other  powerless  to  be  born, 

for  he  saw  that  the  mediDeval  world  was  dead,  and  the 
beginnings  of  modern  civilization  seemed  to  him  impo- 
tent and  aimless.  He  had  had  a  thorough  university 
education,  and  had  taken  priest's  orders  just  before  the 
turn  of  the  century,  —  not  because  he  felt  any  spirit- 
ual call  to  holy  office,  but  because  that  was  the  natural 
thing  for  a  young  man  of  letters  to  do.  The  clergy 
had  no  monopoly  of  learning,  but  they  had,  among  poor 
men,  a  monopoly  of  leisure.  Ecclesiastical  laws  forbade 
priests  to  marry,  but  Skelton  was  both  husband  and 
father,  for  he  looked  upon  ecclesiastical  authorities  with 
defiance  and  contempt.  Much  of  his  best  verse  was 
fierce  satire  upon  the  abuses  in  the  church  of  which 
he  was  himself  a  minister.  Here  is  a  specimen  from 
Colyn  CloHte,  written  in  the  peculiar  jerky  metre  still 
called   "  Skeltonic." 

And  if  ye  stande  in  doute 
Who  brought  this  ryme  aboute. 
My  name  is  Colyn  Cloute. 
I  purpose  to  shake  oute 


l66  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

All  my  connyng  bagge, 
Lyke  a  clerkely  hagge  ; 
For  though  my  ryme  be  ragged, 
Tattered  and  lagged, 
Rudely  rayne  beaten. 
Rusty  and  moughte  ^  eaten. 
If  ye  take  well  therwith. 
It  hath  in  it  some  pyth. 
For,  as  farre  as  I  can  se. 
It  is  wronge  with  eche  degre : 
For  the  temporalte  - 
Accuseth  the  spiritualte  ; ' 
The  spirituall  agayne 
Dothe  grudge  and  complayne 
Vpon  the  temporall  men  : 
Thus  eche  of  other  blother  * 
The  tone^  agayng  the  tother  : 
Alas,  they  make  me  shoderl 
For  in  hoder  moder'^ 
The  Churche  is  put  in  faute; 
The  prelates  ben  so  haut,' 
They  say,  and  loke  so  hy, 
As  though  they  wolde  fly 
Aboute  the  sterry  skye. 
Laye  men  say  indede 
How  they  take  no  hede 
Theyr  sely  shepe  to  fede. 
Rut  plucke  away  and  pull 
The  fleces  of  theyr  wull, 
Vnethes**  they  leue  a  locke 
Of  wull  amonges  theyr  flocke ; 
And  as  for  theyr  connynge,'-* 

1  moth.  -  laity.  ^  clergy.  ■*  gabble.  '"  the  tone  =  that  one. 
<'  hugger-mugger,  confusion.  "  haughty.  ^  scarcely.  ^  learning, 
professional  ability. 


TlIK    RENAISSANCE  1 6/ 

A  glommynge  and  a  mummynge, 
And  make  therof  a  iape  ;  ^ 
They  gaspe  and  they  .gape 
All  to  have  promocyon, 
There  is  theyr  hole  deuocyon, 
With  money,  if  it  wyll  hap, 
To  catche  the  forked  cap  :  '^ 
Forsothe  they  are  to  lewd 
To  say  so,  all  beshrewd  ! 

The  last  two  lines  are  an  ironical  imprecation  upon  the 
ignorant  laymen  who  utter  these  irreverent  slanders 
against  the  clergy. 

Skelton  wrote  many  kinds  of  poetry,  from  love-songs 
(some  of  which  have  a  genuine  lyrical  beauty)  to  moral- 
ity plays  (one  of  which  is  perhaps  the  best  extant)  ; 
and  he  was  interested  in  observing  and  criticising  all 
departments  of  contemporary  life.  He  dissects  the 
courtier,  the  priest,  and  the  tavern-keeper,  with  equal 
keenness.  The  mediaeval  thinker,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  life  and  death,  but 
Skelton  was  concerned  with  the  phenomena  of  life. 
His  work  is  often  absolutely  unquotable  because  of  its 
coarseness,  —  such  coarseness  as  is  heard  among  the 
vagrant  boys  of  city  streets  ;  but  it  has  the  merit  of 
boldness  and  vigor,  and  is  not  immoral.  In  TJie  T/in- 
nyng  of  Elynour  Ruiiiviyiig  he  gives  one  of  the  most 
vivid  pictures  in  the  English  language  of  low  debauch- 
ery, describing  all  the  forlorn  women  who  frequent 
Elynour' s  ale-house  on  brewing  days.  The  following 
is  a  mild  specimen  of  his  descriptive  power  : 

1  jest.  -  i.e.,  the  bishop's  mitre. 


1 68  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

But  to  make  vp  my  tale, 
She  breweth  noppy  ale 
And  maketh  therof  port  ^  sale 
To  trauellars,  to  tynkers, 
To  sweters,  to  swynkers, 
And  all  good  ale  drynkers, 
That  wyll  nothynge  spare, 
But  drynke  tyll  they  stare 
And  brynge  themselfe  bare, 
With,  Now  away  the  mare. 
And  let  us  sley  care. 
As  wise  as  an  hare  ! 

(The  last  three  lines  seem  to  represent  the  topers  as 
singing  some  drinking-song.) 

Come  who  so  will 
To  Elynour  on  the  hyll, 
Wyth,  Fyll  the  cup,  fyll. 
And  syt  there  by  styll, 
Erly  and  late : 
Thyther  cometh  Kate, 
Cysly,  and  Sare, 
With  theyr  legges  bare. 
And  also  theyr  fete 
Hardeley  -  full  unswete  ; 
With  theyr  heles  dagged,^ 
Theyr  kyrtelles  all  to-iagged, 
Theyr  smockes  all  to-ragged, 
Wyth  tytters  and  tatters, 
Brynge  dysshes  and  platters, 
Wyth  all  theyr  myght  runnynge 
To  Elynour  Rummynge, 
To  haue  of  her  tunnynge  : 
She  leneth  ■*  them  on  ^  the  same, 

^wholesale,      -assuredly.      ^  ^^g.^ij-g^j,      *  furnisheth.      ^  some  of. 


THK    RliNAISSANCE  1 69 

And  thus  begynneth  the  game. 
Some  wenches  come  vnlased, 
Some  huswyues  come  vnbrased, 
A  sorte  of  foule  drabbes 
All  scuruy  with  scabbes  : 
Some  be  flybytten, 
Some  skewed  ^  as  a  kytten  ; 
Some  wyth  a  sho  clout 
Bynde  theyr  heddes  about ; 
Some  haue  no  herelace,^ 
Theyr  lockes  about  theyr  face, 
Theyr  tresses  vntrust,'^ 
All  full  of  vnlust ;  •* 
Some  loke  strawry,"' 
Some  cawry  mawry  ;  ^ 
Full  vntydy  tegges " 
Lyke  rotten  egges. 
Suche  a  lewde  sorte 
To  Elynour  resorte 
From  tyde  to  tyde  : 
Abyde,  abyde, 
And  to  you  shall  be  tolde 
Howe  hyr  ale  is  solde. 

There  is  much  buffoonery  in  Skelton,  but  no  humor  of 
the  kindher  sort.  There  are  passages  that  may  be  called 
fun,  but  they  are  the  fun  of  a  man  who  sees  little  in  the 
world  to  love,  and  little  hope  for  the  future  ;  they  are 
the  ^^ saeva  indignatio''  of  the  pessimist  who  laughs 
fiercely  in  despair. 

48.    Mediaeval  Universities.  —  Until  the  period  which  we 
are  now  considering,  the  course  of  .study  at  the  great 

1  walking  obliquely  (?).     -  hair-band.     ^  untrussed.     *  unloveliness. 
^  seedy  (?).         ^  threadbare.         "  slatterns. 


I/O  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

universities  had  for  several  centuries  undergone  no  very 
radical  change.  The  curriculum  began  with  Grammar, 
Rhetoric,  and  Logic  (collectively  designated  as  the 
trivitim),  and  continued,  for  advanced  students,  with 
Arithmetic,  Geometry,  Music,  and  Astronomy  (the  quad- 
riviuin).  The  Grammar  and  Rhetoric  of  the  trivimn 
meant  chiefly  the  parsing  of  Latin  sentences,  the  com- 
position of  Latin  verses,  and  the  study  of  treatises  by 
post -classical  Latin  grammarians  and  rhetoricians.  Logic 
was  in  mediaeval  estimation  the  most  important  of  the 
three  subjects,  for  logic  was  the  soul  of  philosophy,  and 
philosophy  was  the  end  of  all  learning.  Logical  methods 
were  used  in  all  the  more  advanced  studies.  The  student, 
for  example,  who  had  finished  both  triviiivi  and  quadri- 
viuvi,  and  remained  at  the  university  for  the  study  of 
theology,  would  pursue  that  study  in  some  such  manner 
as  the  following :  he  would  attend  lectures  at  which 
perhaps  the  Sjimma  Theologiae  of  Thomas  Aquinas 
would  be  read  aloud  (the  students,  of  course,  being 
unable  to  possess  copies).  Before  reading,  the  lecturer 
stated  the  main  divisions  of  the  work,  then  the  subdivi- 
sions of  the  first  part,  and  the  further  subdivisions  of  the 
first  subdivision,  until  he  had  reached  the  first  sentence  : 
then,  if  that  sentence  were  not  susceptible  of  still  further 
subdivision,  he  would  read  it,  paraphrase  it,  explain  why 
it  stood  first,  and  what  lessons  were  deducible  from  it. 
Then  he  would  pass  to  the  next,  explaining  why  it  stood 
second  rather  than  first  or  third,  and  so  on  through  the 
lesson. 

This  was  the  anal)tical  method.     The  "  dialectical  " 
method  of  instruction  was  common  also.     A  passage  of 


THE    RENAISSANCE  I /I 

doubtful  interpretation  was  read,  and  one  interpretation 
was  stated  ;  then  the  students  were  set  to  work  assaiUng 
or  defending  it.  Finally  the  Master  stated  his  own 
interpretation,  and  justified  it. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  this  sort  of  instruction 
was  fruitless.  It  gave  the  young  "clerk"  an  excellent 
training  for  a  certain  kind  of  intellectual  cleverness.  It 
did  not,  however,  conduce  to  the  general  advancement  of 
learning.  The  student  of  theology  was  encouraged  to 
consider,  not  what  was  the  relation  of  man  to  God,  but 
what  Thomas  Aquinas  or  some  other  divine  had  said 
about  it,  and  what  he  meant.  The  dialectical  method 
made  men  very  clever  at  disputing  such  questions  as 
whether  two  angels  could  occupy  the  same  place  at  the 
same  time,  or  whether  God  could,  have  assumed  any 
other  than  the  human  form,  and  if  so,  whether,  in  case 
he  had  assumed  the  form  of  an  animal  or  a  vegetable,  he 
could  have  had  the  power  of  speech  ;  but  such  disputa- 
tions did  nothing  for  the  cause  of  religion  or  science,  and 
very  little  for  the  cause  of  liberal  culture. 

The  life  of  the  students  was  very  hard.  Most  of 
them  were  poor.  As  late  as  1550  we  read  that  the 
.students  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  had  two 
meals  a  day  on  one  pennyworth  of  meat,  studied  till 
nine  or  ten  o'clock,  and  then  ran  or  walked  briskly  for , 
half  an  hour  to  warm  their  feet  before  going  to  bed. 
Diseases  were  common.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  VII 
the  plague  visited  Oxford  six  times,  and  various  other 
kinds  of  fever  were  the  natural  result  of  unsanitary 
conditions.  Erasmus  left  the  University  of  Paris  in  dis- 
gust,  and   said   afterwards  that   he  had   brought   away 


172  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

little  learning,  but  "  a  large  quantity  of  lice  "  ;  and  the 
English  universities  were  probably  not  much  more 
cleanly.  All  these  things  were  clue  partly  to  igno- 
rance, but  partly  also  to  the  characteristic  mediaeval  idea 
that  the  mind  is  improved  by  the  sufferings  of  the  flesh. 

49.  The  Revival  of  Learning.  —  The  Renaissance  began 
in  Italy  in  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
spread  gradually  to  northern  Europe.  When  we  say 
this,  we  mean  by  the  word  Renaissance  the  transition 
between  the  mediaeval  world  and  the  modern.  We  have 
seen  that  Chaucer  was  in  most  essentials  a  modern  poet  ; 
and  before  his  time  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio  had  intro- 
duced much  of  the  modern  spirit  into  Italian  letters  ; 
but  the  general  awakening  came  a  century  later.  It 
was  a  universal  movement,  affecting  literature,  reli- 
gion, art,  manners,  science,  —  in  short,  all  departments 
of  human  activity.  We  cannot  account  for  it,  except  in 
part,  just  as  we  cannot  altogether  account  for  the  greater 
renascence  of  the  nineteenth  century  ;  we  can  only  chron- 
icle the  events  and  connect  them  with  one  another. 

Perhaps  the  most  important  feature  of  the  Renais- 
sance was  the  revival  of  interest  in  classical  literature. 
It  is  usual  to  date  this  from  the  year  1453,  for  in  that 
year  Constantinople  was  taken  by  the  Turks,  and  many 
.  Greek  scholars  who  had  lived  there  were  dri\cn  to  seek 
other  homes.  They  carried  their  learning  with  them, 
and  spread  it  over  western  Europe  ;  but  it  would  be 
safer  to  regard  this  event  as  merely  contributing  to  the 
movement,  —  certainly  not  as  its  sole  and  sufficient  ex- 
planation. The  importance  of  the  revelation  of  ancient 
literature  to  the  mediaeval  world   can    hardly   be  over- 


THE    RENAISSANCE.  1/3 

estimated.  We  are  likely  to  underestimate  it  now,  for, 
in  the  four  centuries  that  have  elapsed  since  the  Renais- 
sance, most  of  the  virtue  that  was  in  Greek  thought  has 
been  directly  or  indirectly  absorbed  into  our  own  litera- 
ture. If  all  the  classical  literature  should  somehow  be 
taken  away  from  us,  the  loss  would  be  incomparably  less 
than  was  the  gain  of  finding  it,  to  the  mediaeval  world. 
Ancient  Greece  was  to  the  Europe  of  the  fifteenth 
century  what  modern  Europe  is  to  Japan.  A  race 
that  had  for  many  generations  known  nothing  broader 
than  the  theology  of  the  schools,  the  ascetic  morality 
of  the  cloister,  and  science  like  that  of  Maundevile 
and  the  Bestiary,  was  suddenly  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  highest  civilization  that  the  world  had  yet 
known,  and  the  result  was  an  incalculable  widening  of 
their  mental,  moral,  and  spiritual  horizon.  The  new 
spirit  thus  introduced  is  sometimes  called  "humanism," 
and  we  speak  of  the  men  who  were  foremost  in  intro- 
ducing it  as   "the  humanists." 

50.  The  Humanists. — The  most  eminent  of  the  human- 
ists was  Desiderius  Erasmus.  He  was  born  at  Rotter- 
dam about  1466,  and  was  bred  in  Holland  ;  yet  in 
writing  to  a  compatriot  he  once  apologized  for  writing 
in  Latin,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  not  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  Dutch.  This  fact  illustrates  his  cosmo- 
politan character.  He  was  "a  citizen  of  Europe,"  and 
Latin,  which  was  the  language  of  learning  at  Oxford  as 
well  as  at  Paris  or  Rome,  was  his  only  natural  medium. 
He  was  persuaded,  when  hardly  past  boyhood,  to 
become  a  monk  ;  but  he  bitterly  regretted  the  step, 
and  after  a  few  years  obtained  permission  to  leave  his 


174  EARLY    KNGLIi>lI    LITERATURE 

monastery.  For  several  years  he  wandered  from  place 
to  place  in  northern  Europe,  eagerly  seeking  to  perfect 
his  education,  and  especially  seeking  some  one  who  could 
teach  him  Greek ;  for  he  heard  of  the  new  learning,  and 
he  knew  that  Greek  was  the  key  to  it.  At  length, 
probably  in  1498,  he  came  to  Oxford.  There  he  found 
a  little  circle  of  learned  and  large-minded  men,  some  of 
whom  had  been  in  Italy  and  learned  Greek,  while  all 
were  enthusiastic  for  the  new  culture.  He  was  charmed 
with  them,  and  they  with  him.  His  restless  nature 
prevented  him  from  settling  permanently  in  England, 
although  he  was  repeatedly  urged  to  do  so,  and  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  was  passed  on  the  continent  ; 
but  he  made  other  visits  to  England  in  later  years,  and 
the  English  Renaissance  perhaps  owed  as  much  to  him 
as  to  any  individual  Englishman. 

The  best  known  of  the  works  of  Erasmus,  TJie  Praise 
of  Folly,  was  written  in  England.  In  its  original  form 
it  was,  of  course,  in  Latin,  and  it  is  not  strictly  a  part 
of  English  literature  at  all ;  but  it  was  often  republished 
in  English,  and  it  reveals  the  spirit  of  the  new  learning 
more  clearly  than  any  other  single  work  of  the  time.  It 
was  written  hurriedly,  more  in  fun  than  in  earnest,  and 
is  a  satire  upon  the  various  kinds  of  folly  which  were 
left  over  from  the  mediaeval  world  ;  but  though  it  is  for 
the  most  part  humorous,  and  negative  rather  than  posi- 
tive in  its  criticism,  it  contains  many  serious  passages  of 
real  eloquence,  and  affords  hints  of  the  higher  ideals  of 
the  reformers,  as  well  as  of  the  older  ideals  which  it  was 
their  purpose  to  shatter.  The  following  passages  are 
from  one  of  the  standard  translations  : 


THE    RENAISSANCE  I  75 

The  divines  present  themselves  next.  .  .  .  They  are 
exquisitely  dexterous  in  unfolding  the  most  intricate 
mysteries ;  they  will  tell  you  to  a  tittle  all  the  successive 
proceedings  of  omnipotence  in  the  creation  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  they  will  explain  the  precise  manner  of  original  sin 
being  derived  from  our  first  parents ;  they  will  satisfy  you 
in  what  manner,  by  what  degrees,  and  in  how  long  a  time, 
our  Saviour  was  conceived  in  the  Virgin's  womb,  and 
demonstrate  in  the  consecrated  wafer  how  accidents  may 
subsist  without  a  subject.  .  .  .  And  these  subtilties  are 
alchymized  to  a  more  refined  sublimate  by  the  abstracting 
brains  of  their  school-men ;  the  realists,  the  nominalists, 
the  thomists,  the  albertists,  the  occamists,  the  scotists ; 
these  are  not  all,  but  the  rehearsal  of  a  few  only,  as  a 
specimen  of  their  divided  sects  ;  in  each  of  which  there  is 
so  much  of  deep  learning,  so  much  of '  unfathomable  diffi- 
culty, that  I  believe  the  apostles  themselves  would  stand 
in  need  of  a  new  illuminating  spirit,  if  they  were  to  engage 
in  any  controversy  with  these  new  divines.  .  .   . 

The  next  to  these  are  another  sort  of  brain-sick  fools, 
who  style  themselves  monks  and  of  religious  orders, 
though  they  assume  both  titles  very  unjustly.  .  .  .  Most 
of  them  place  their  greatest  stress  for  salvation  on  a  strict 
conformity  to  their  foppish  ceremonies,  and  a  belief  of 
their  legendary  traditions ;  wherein  they  fancy  to  have 
acquitted  themselves  with  so  much  of  supererogation,  that 
one  heaven  can  never  be  a  condign  reward  for  their  meri- 
torious life  ;  little  thinking  that  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth 
at  the  last  day  shall  put  them  off,  with  a  who  hath  required 
these  things  at  your  hands ;  and  call  them  to  account  only 
for  the  stewardship  of  his  legacy,  which  was  the  precept 
of  love  and  charity.  It  will  be  pretty  to  hear  their  pleas 
before  the  great  tribunal :  one  will  brag  how  he  mortified 
his  carnal  appetite  by  feeding  only  upon  fish  :  another  will 
urge  that  he  spent  most  of  his  time  on  earth  in  the  divine 
exercise  of  singing  psalms  :   a  third  will  tell  how  many  days 


1/6  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

he  fasted,  and  what  severe  penance  he  imposed  on  himself 
for  the  bringing  his  body  into  subjection  :  another  shall 
produce  in  his  own  behalf  as  many  ceremonies  as  would 
load  a  fleet  of  merchant-men  ;  a  fifth  shall  plead,  that  in 
threescore  years  he  never  so  much  as  touched  a  piece  of 
money,  except  he  fingered  it  through  a  thick  pair  of  gloves : 
a  sixth,  to  testify  his  former  humility,  shall  bring  along 
with  him  his  sacred  hood,  so  old  and  nasty,  that  any  sea- 
man had  rather  stand  bare-headed  on  the  deck,  than  put  it 
on  to  defend  his  head  from  the  sharpest  storms  :  the  next 
that  comes  to  answer  for  himself  shall  plead,  that  for  fifty 
years  together  he  had  lived  like  a  sponge  upon  the  same 
place,  and  was  content  never  to  change  his  homely  habi- 
tation :  another  shall  whisper  softly,  and  tell  the  judge  he 
has  lost  his  voice  by  a  continual  singing  of  holy  hymns 
and  anthems :  the  next  shall  confess  how  he  fell  into  a 
lethargy  by  a  strict,  reserved,  and  sedentary  life  :  and  the 
last  shall  intimate  that  he  has  forgot  to  speak,  by  having 
always  kept  silence,  in  obedience  to  the  injunction  of  taking 
heed  lest  he  should  have  offended  with  his  tongue.  But 
amidst  all  their  fine  excuses  our  Saviour  shall  interrupt 
them  with  this  answer.  Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  phari- 
sees,  hypocrites,  verily  I  know  you  not ;  I  left  you  but  one 
precept,  of  loving  one  another,  which  I  do  not  hear  any 
one  plead  he  has  faithfully  discharged :  I  told  you  plainly 
in  my  gospel,  without  any  parable,  that  my  father's  king- 
dom was  prepared,  not  for  such  as  should  lay  claim  to  it  by 
austerities,  prayers,  or  fastings,  but  for  those  who  should 
render  themselves  worthy  of  it  by  the  exercise  of  faith,  and 
the  offices  of  charity :  I  cannot  own  such  as  depend  on 
their  own  merits  without  a  reliance  on  my  mercy :  as  many 
of  you  therefore  as  trust  to  the  broken  reeds  of  your  own 
deserts,  may  even  go  search  out  a  new  heaven,  for  you 
shall  never  enter  into  that,  which  from  the  foundations 
of  the  world  was  prepared  only  for  such  as  are  Irue  of 
heart. 


THE    RENAISSANCE  1 77 

A  younger  member  of  Erasmus's  English  circle  was 
Sir  Thomas  More.  His  best  known  work,  the  Utopia, 
belongs  to  English  literature  only  in  the  same  indirect 
way  as  The  Praise  of  Folly.  It  is  a  fanciful  sketch  of 
an  ideal  commonwealth,  governed  according  to  the  en- 
lightened principles  of  the  humanists.  The  book  is 
made  up  partly  of  serious  speculations,  partly  of  grave 
irony,  and  partly  of  purely  pla}^ul  fancies.  When  we 
read  that  in  Utopia  there  is  no  persecution  for  religious 
differences,  and  no  capital  punishment  for  minor  felonies, 
we  feel  that  More  is  considering  the  reconstruction  of 
society  in  a  really  scientific  spirit  ;  but  when  we  are 
told  that  the  Utopians  use  gold  and  precious  stones 
only  for  chains  and  badges  of  servitude,  it  is  clear  that 
he  is  merely  playing  with  his  subject.  As  a  whole,  how- 
ever, the  Utopia  is  properly  regarded  as  a  typical  product 
of  the  humanistic  movement.  It  has  sometimes  been 
contrasted  with  Piers  Plowman,  and  a  comparison  of 
the  two  books  is  suggestive.  Each  book  is  a  protest 
against  the  mediaeval  organization  of  society,  and  each 
author  was  eagerly  desirous  of  social  reform  ;  but  all 
that  Langland  could  do  was  to  cry  out  against  evil,  and 
passionately  exhort  the  world  to  righteousness  and  in- 
dustry. Really  to  devise  a  regenerated  society,  based 
upon  enlightened  legislation  and  economic  theory,  was  a 
task  that  had  to  wait  for  a  mind  widened  by  the  Renais- 
sance and  the  Revival  of  Learning. 

The  Utopia  and  TJie  Praise  of  Folly  illustrate  the 
secular  and  the  religious  sides,  respectively,  of  human- 
ism ;  but  Erasmus  was  not  exclusively  a  theologian,  and 
More,  when  there  came  a  breach  between  church  and 


1/8  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

State,  laid  down  his  life  for  the  church.  The  two  books 
must  be  considered  together,  as  jointly  illustrative  of  the 
kind  of  thinking  that  the  humanists  stood  for.  They 
spread  the  new  culture  by  miscellaneous  writings,  but 
perhaps  still  more  by  their  immediate  personal  influence. 
There  was  a  great  controversy,  for  example,  over  the 
introduction  of  Greek  studies  in  the  universities.  The 
circle  of  Erasmus  and  More  advocated  it,  for  Greek 
was  the  key  to  the  gospels  as  opposed  to  the  scholastic 
theology,  and  to  the  wider  culture  of  Athens  as  opposed 
to  that  of  the  middle  ages.  There  was  much  bitter 
opposition,  for  the  humanists  were  regarded  as  heretics, 
and  Greek  learning  was  evidently  dangerous  to  ortho- 
doxy ;  but  the  reformers  attained  some  signal  successes 
in  a  very  short  time.  In  15  17,  for  example,  the  new 
Corpus  Christi  college  was  founded  at  Oxford,  with  a 
charter  expressly  providing  for  the  study  of  Greek.  To 
Erasmus  it  seemed  that  the  campaign  was  won,  and  the 
end  of  mediaevalism  already  in  sight. 

51.  The  Reformation.  —  The  humanistic  movement 
would  doubtless  have  won  the  day  sooner,  if  it  had  not 
been  o\-ershadowed  by  the  Reformation.  At  the  time 
when  Erasmus  and  his  friends  were  working  for  the 
peaceful  extension  of  classical  culture,  and  were  hoping 
thereby  to  accomplish  a  sweeping  reform  in  church  and 
state,  Martin  Luther  was  beginning  on  the  continent 
that  violent  revolt  against  the  Church  of  Rome  which  in 
the  end  left  nearly  all  of  northern  Europe  Protestant. 
P>asmus  was  a  loyal  Catholic.  He  argued  persistently 
against  the  abuses  of  Romanism,  and  against  the  narrow 
theology  of  the  Romanists  ;    but  what  he  wanted  was 


THE    RENAISSANCE  1/9 

reform  within  the  church,  not  secession  from  it.  Luther, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  as  ilhberal  in  his  theology  as 
the  church  from  which  he  revolted.  In  true  mediaeval 
fashion  he  based  his  doctrines  about  original  sin,  justi- 
fication by  faith,  predestination,  etc.,  largely  upon  the 
authority  of  the  early  fathers  of  the  church  ;  and  the 
essence  of  his  Protestant  theology  was  in  most  respects 
difference  of  opinion  with  the  Church  of  Rome,  rather 
than  difference  of  spirit  or  method.  It  was  not  his 
theological  thinking  that  made  him  great,  but  his  per- 
sistent and  dauntless  courage ;  and  his  popular  strength 
came  from  his  eloquent  denunciation  of  Romanist  corrup- 
tion, as  much  as  from  his  substitute  for  the  Catholic  faith. 
Erasmus  at  first  s}Tnpathized  with  Luther.  When 
asked  his  opinion  of  him,  he  said,  "  Luther  has  com- 
mitted two  crimes  :  he  has  hit  the  Pope  on  his  crown, 
and  the  monks  in  their  bellies."  But  in  general  he 
would  rather  expound  the  gospels  than  quarrel  about 
them,  and  he  once  wrote  to  Luther  that  a  courteous 
reserve  would  accomplish  more  than  impetuosity.  As 
the  Reformation  gathered  force,  he  looked  upon  it  with 
increasing  uneasiness.  It  was  wiping  out  abuses  which 
he  abhorred,  but  it  also  threatened  to  thwart  his  highest 
intellectual  hopes.  It  aroused  angry  passions,  and  was 
accompanied  by  violent  political  uphea\'als,  instead  of 
reasonable  discussion.  It  is  true  that  the  work  of  the 
Oxford  humanists  had  done  much  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  Reformation  ;  as  was  said  at  the  time,  Erasmus 
laid  the  egg,  and  Luther  hatched  it  ;  but  Erasmus  pro- 
tested that  his  Qgg  had  a  genuine  chicken  in  it,  and 
Luther  had  hatched  out  a  very  different  bird. 


l8o  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

The  English  Reformation  was  precipitated  by  a  per- 
sonal quarrel  of  the  king.  Henry  VIII  wanted  to 
divorce  his  queen,  in  order  to  marry  the  beautiful  Anne 
Bole^Ti,  and  the  Pope  would  not  consent  to  the  divorce ; 
accordingly  Henry  put  an  end  to  papal  supremacy,  and 
constituted  himself  the  supreme  head  of  the  Church 
of  England.  This  act  was  possible  only  because  of  the 
strong  spirit  of  popular  opposition  to  the  Church  of 
Rome,  fostered  by  the  work  of  Luther  as  well  as  by 
that  of  the  humanists  ;  but  it  was  primarily  a  personal 
and  political  revolt,  and  only  secondaril}-  a  religious  one. 
It  led  to  much  persecution  and  bloodshed,  Sir  Thomas 
More  being  one  of  the  first  to  lose  his  head  in  the  cause 
of  the  old  church ;  and  for  a  time,  in  the  turbulence 
that  followed,  it  seemed  that  the  era  of  culture  inaugu- 
rated by  the  Oxford  reformers  had  passed  away.  In 
fact,  after  the  Reformation  was  finished,  the  university 
movement  went  on,  and  in  so  far  as  it  was  merely  a 
movement  toward  higher  culture  and  the  revival  of 
classical  literature,  it  eventually  triumphed ;  but  the 
movement  for  more  liberal  theology  was  effectually 
strangled  in  its  infancy. 

52.  Wyatt  and  Surrey.  —  Humanism  was  the  chief  ele- 
ment in  the  Renaissance,  but  it  was  not  all.  There  was 
nothing  aesthetic  in  the  Re\'ival  of  Learning.  Erasmus 
was  in  Italy  in  the  age  of  Michelangelo  and  Raphael,  but 
the  things  that  interested  him  there  were  the  new  learn- 
ing and  the  new  theolog}-  ;  and  while  he  was  crossing  the 
Alps  on  mule-back  he  whiled  away  the  time  by  compos- 
ing some  Latin  verses  on  old  age.  In  Utopia  the  popu- 
lation was  not  made  up  of  painters,  poets,  or  musicians  ; 


THE    RENAISSANCE  l8l 

the  people  were  intensely  practical,  and  got  along  very 
well  without  art.  But  as  we  look  back  upon  the  Renais- 
sance, it  seems  to  us  that  the  new  impulse  given  by  it  to 
the  artistic  expression  of  feeling  was  almost  as  extraor- 
dinary as  the  widening  of  the  intellectual  horizon.  The 
two  poets  whose  names  head  this  section  were  typical 
figures  in  the  artistic  part  of  the  movement. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  Revival  of  Learning,  it  had 
become  common  for  the  sons  of  English  gentlemen  to 
seek  a  higher  education  than  their  ancestors  had  thought 
worth  while.  Erasmus  tells  us  that  this  began  to  be 
fashionable  about  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Thenceforth  the  sons  of  noblemen  were  more  commonly 
seen  at  the  universities,  and  as  Italy  was  the  land  of  cul- 
ture, it  became  fashionable  for  them  to  make  a  pilgrim- 
age thither.  But  the  gay  youths  naturally  went  to  Italy 
not,  as  Erasmus  did,  because  it  was  the  land  of  Greek 
learning,  but  because  they  wanted  to  see  the  world.  To 
them  Italy  was  the  land  of  literature  and  art  ;  and  a  liter- 
ary and  artistic  enthusiasm  was  what  they  brought  with 
them  on  their  return  home.  In  Italy,  at  this  time,  there 
was  a  fashionable  revival  of  interest  in  poetry,  and  espe- 
cially in  a  certain  kind  of  love  poetry ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was  that  in  England  the  composition  of  love 
poetry  after  the  Italian  pattern  became  a  favorite 
accomplishment  for  fashionable  men. 

Wyatt  and  Surrey  were  courtiers  of  Henry  VIII,  and 
gentlemen  in  public  life ;  they  were  only  secondarily 
poets.  But  they  were  gentlemen  of  brilliant  accomplish- 
ments, educated  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and  of  course 
they  wrote  verse  of  the  fashionable  kind.     This   kind 


162  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

was,  in  spirit,  akin  to  the  French  romances  of  the  school 
of  Chrestien  of  Troyes.  As  it  was  the  work  of  gentle- 
men, instead  of  professional  poets,  it  naturally  took  the 
form  of  songs,  lyrics,  vers  de  societe,  instead  of  long 
narratives  of  chivalrous  adventure ;  but  it  presents  an 
artificial  conception  of  love  not  unlike  what  we  saw  in  the 
romances  of  the  twelfth  centur)\  Wyatt  and  Surrey,  as 
well  as  divers  other  poets  of  the  period,  seem  to  have 
amused  themselves  and  their  friends  by  pouring  out  im- 
passioned addresses  to  ladies  whom  they  did  not  love, 
complaining  of  rebuffs  which  they  had  not  suffered,  or 
praying  for  favors  which  they  did  not  want.  Poetry  of 
this  sort  was  in  itself  unpromising.  The  only  school 
of  poetry  that  can  produce  great  results  is  that  in  which 
poets  learn  to  express  with  sincerity  feelings  that  are 
really  near  to  their  hearts.  The  importance  of  the  school 
of  Wyatt  and  Surrey,  however,  was  great  in  an  indirect 
way  ;  for  it  directed  the  attention  of  men  of  brilliant 
powers  to  poetr)%  strengthened  the  hold  of  literature 
upon  fashionable  society,  and  started  an  era  of  ex- 
perimental versifying  which  was  destined  in  the  end 
to  culminate  in  the  work  of  the  great  Elizabethan 
poets. 

We  are  ignorant  of  the  dates  of  composition  of  many 
of  the  poems  of  Wyatt  and  Surrey,  and  therefore  cannot 
with  certainty  decide  which  was  first  in  some  of  the  in- 
novations introduced  by  them  ;  but  between  them  they 
are  entitled  to  the  credit  of  being  the  first  English 
writers  of  sonnets.  The  sonnet  form  is  one  of  many 
highly  artificial  forms  of  verse  imported  from  abroad, 
and  it  is  the  only  one  that  has  proved  eminently  success- 


TllK    RENAISSANCE  1 83 

fill  in  the  hands  of  Enghsh  poets.  Wyatt  and  Surrey 
borrowed  it  from  the  poets  of  Italy,  and  achieved  a  very 
indifferent  success  with  it  ;  but  within  half  a  century 
many  other  Enghsh  poets  were  bettering  their  instruc- 
tion. Surrey  alone  is  entitled  to  a  doubtful  credit  for 
being  the  first  English  poet  to  write  blank  verse.  That 
form  of  composition  has  indeed  proved  the  noblest  of 
which  English  verse  is  susceptible ;  but  Surrey's  blank 
verse  was  bad,  and  he  evidently  wrote  it  not  because  he 
had  any  sense  of  the  possibilities  latent  in  the  form,  but 
because  some  Italian  poets  had  used  it.  It  was  reserved 
for  Marlowe,  Shakespeare,  and  Milton  to  discover  its 
real  glories. 

The  work  of  Wyatt  and  Surrey  was  not  altogether  in 
the  artificial  love  poetry  of  the  court.  Wyatt  passed 
the  last  years  of  his  life  in  retirement,  and  during  that 
period  composed  some  poems  of  a  much  more  genuine 
sort,  containing  some  sincere  and  dignified  reflections 
upon  his  former  life  at  court,  and  the  life  that  he  was 
then  leading  in  the  country.  Surrey,  too,  left  some 
poetry  of  much  nobler  pretensions  than  the  idle  verse 
of  gallantry.  But,  as  it  happened,  the  genius  of  each 
was  essentially  lyrical,  and  both  did  their  best  work  in 
the  more  artificial  kind  of  verse.  Many  of  the  poems 
of  each  may  fairly  be  called  detestable,  but  both 
poets  occasionally  rose  to  a  real  poetic  height.  Com- 
parative estimates  of  the  two  are  often  attempted,  but 
seem  futile.  Wyatt,  perhaps,  shows  a  truer  poetic 
genius  ;  but  then  Surrey  died  very  young.  Surrey  has 
more  polish  and  fluency,  but  then  he  had  the  work  of 
his    older    contemporary  for    a   model.     The  following 


lS4  EARLY    ENGLISH    LLIERATURE 

specimen    of  Wyatt's  work    has    genuine   merits,  both 
in  feeling  and  in  style  : 

Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent 
Of  such  a  truth  as  I  have  meant  ; 
My  great  travail  so  gladly  spent, 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  when  first  began 
The  weary  life  ye  know,  since  whan. 
The  suit,  the  service  none  tell  can ; 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  the  great  assays, 
The  cruel  wrong,  the  scornful  ways, 
The  painful  patience  in  delays. 

Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not,  O,  forget  not  this. 
How  long  ago  hath  been,  and  is 
The  mind  that  never  meant  amiss  — 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  then  thine  own  approved 
The  which  so  long  hath  thee  so  loved, 
Whose  steadfast  faith  yet  never  moved  — 
Forget  not  this  ! 

53.  Conclusion.  —  The  full  development  of  the  Renais- 
sance in  England  was  delayed  b}"  the  political  excite- 
ments and  uncertainties  of  the  reigns  of  Henry,  Edward, 
and  Mary ;  but  the  seed  had  been  sown,  and  the  fruits 
were  harvested  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  history 
of  the  Elizabethan  literature  is  without  the  scope  of  this 
volume,  and  we  will  only  consider  briefly  some  of  the 
ways  in  which  the  Renaissance  led  up  to  it. 


THE    RENAISSANCE  1 85 

The  most  brilliant  achievement  of  the  Elizabethan  age 
was  the  development  of  the  drama.  We  have  already 
seen  its  crude  beginnings  in  the  Miracle  and  Morality 
Plays.  If  there  had  been  no  Revival  of  Learning,  we 
can  imagine  that  some  sort  of  drama  might  have  been 
evolved.  Native  English  instincts  might  well  have 
completed  the  substitution  of  individuals  for  abstractions 
in  the  Moralities  ;  but  at  best  we  should  have  had  only 
a  wild,  unregulated  melodrama,  without  unity  or  form. 
As  it  was,  the  scholarly  men  at  the  schools  and  univer- 
sities became  interested  in  the  classical  drama.  In  the 
third  quarter  of  the  sixteenth  century  they  were  acting 
Latin  plays  before  select  audiences,  and  writing  English 
plays  in  imitation  of  them.  These  plays  were  hardly  fit 
for  acting.  Gorboduc,  for  example,  which  is  commonly 
distinguished  as  the  first  English  tragedy,  presents  not 
actions  but  long  speeches  about  actions  —  moral  essays 
in  the  form  of  dialogue,  with  deeds  for  their  texts.  Such 
plays  as  this  were  purely  academic  products,  and  could 
never  have  led  to  a  national  drama.  They  were  useful, 
however,  in  modifying  the  existing  popular  drama.  They 
suggested  to  such  men  as  Christopher  Marlowe  the  idea 
that  the  drama  was  a  suitable  medium  of  expression  for 
a  great  poet.  They  showed  how  it  might  be  used  to 
portray  the  highest  passions  in  an  elevated  style  and  an 
artistic  form.  At  the  same  time,  writers  of  Moralities 
had  already  learned  that  the  stage  is  the  place  for  doing 
things,  not  merely  saying  them  ;  and  they  had  discov- 
ered the  great  advantage  of  mixing  comic  elements  with 
tragic.  The  Elizabethan  drama  descended  from  the  old 
Morality  Plays,  under  the  modifying  influence  of   the 


l86  EARLY    EiXGLISH    LITERATURE 

classical  drama.  It  was  a  combination  of  the  elements 
demanded  by  scholarly  critics  and  the  elements  de- 
manded by  popular  audiences. 

The  aesthetic  movement  which  was  begun  in  the  time 
of  Wyatt  and  Surrey  continued  throughout  the  Eliza- 
bethan period.  It  was  the  fashion  to  be  able  to  A\Tite 
poetr}',  and  especially  love  lyrics  ;  and  among  the  many 
who  were  moved  to  write,  a  surprising  number  exhibited 
real  genius.  Many  anthologies  of  \erse  were  published, 
known  now,  collectively,  as  the  Elizabethan  Miscel- 
lanies. The  titles  of  some  of  them,  such  as  the  Para- 
dise of  Dainty  Devices,  or  the  Gorgeous  Gallery  of 
Gallant  Inve)itions,  illustrate  a  certain  artificial  quality 
from  which  little  of  the  Elizabethan  lyrical  poetry  is 
absolutely  free.  The  following  specimen,  a  song  of 
Lyly's,  has  this  quality,  but  it  also  has  the  daintiness 
and  delicacy  that  made  so  many  of  the  love-songs  of 
the  period  imperishable. 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  play'd 

At  cards  for  kisses  ;  Cupid  paid  : 

He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows. 

His  mother's  doves,  and  team  of  sparrows ; 

Loses  them  too  ;  then  down  he  throws 

The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 

Growing  on  's  cheek  (but  none  knows  how) ; 

With  these,  the  crystal  of  his  brow. 

And  then  the  dimple  on  his  chin  ; 

All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win  : 

At  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes  — 

She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

O  Love  !  has  she  done  this  to  thee  ? 

What  shall,  alas  !  become  of  me  .-• 


THE    RENAISSANCE  187 

In  prose  as  well  as  in  poetry  the  Elizabethans  devel- 
oped a  style  of  their  own,  often  disfigured  by  artificial 
attempts  at  elegance,  but  nevertheless  very  helpful  to 
literary  progress.  Lyly  was  one  of  the  worst  offenders 
against  simplicity,  and  his  romance,  Euphucs,  has  given 
us  the  word  euphuism  for  the  peculiar  affectations  of 
its  style.  Lyly  delighted  in  sentences  like  this  :  "  O 
divine  nature,  O  heavenly  nobilitie,  what  thing  can 
there  more  be  required  in  a  Prince  than  in  greatest 
power  to  shew  greatest  patience,  in  chiefest  glorye  to 
bring  forth  chiefest  grace,  in  abundance  of  all  earthly 
pomp  to  manifest  abundance  of  all  heavenly  piety  :  O 
fortunate  England  that  hath  such  a  Queen,  ungrateful, 
if  thou  pray  not  for  her,  wicked,  if  thou  do  not  love  her, 
miserable,  if  thou  lose  her."  This  style  was,  of  course, 
vicious  ;  but  it  was  the  result  of  conscious  study  of  style, 
and  it  was  only  after  many  writers  had  studied  and 
experimented  with  prose,  that  a  good  English  style 
could  at  last  become  common. 

A  noteworthy  example  of  the  influence  of  humanism 
upon  the  inner  life  and  spirit  of  England  is  seen  in 
Spenser's  Faerie  Qtieene.  Spenser,  indeed,  may  be 
chosen  to  represent  almost  any  of  the  great  move- 
ments in  contemporary  thought  ;  but  we  will  close 
with  a  suggestion  as  to  the  great  significance  of  his 
attitude  towards  moral  problems.  His  great  poem  is 
composed  throughout  in  a  moral  spirit  ;  but  it  is  the 
moral  spirit  of  the  classical  heathen  philosophers,  not 
that  of  the  middle  ages.  To  Spenser,  virtue  is  not 
primarily  that  quality  which  will  bring  us  to  heaven, 
but  that  which  is  intrinsically  beautiful.      Sin  is  not  (as 


1 88  EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

in  the  mediaeval  homilies  or  Miracle  Plays)  the  thing  that 
leads  to  hell-mouth,  but  the  thing  that  is  intrinsically 
det^estable.  This  idea  of  morality  is  made  the  basis  of  a 
long  romantic  allegory,  in  which  the  virtues  are  person- 
ified as  gallant  knights  and  beautiful  ladies,  while  the 
vices  are  witches,  ogres,  and  dragons.  This  is  perhaps 
the  crowning  example  in  Elizabethan  literature  of  the 
triumph  of  classical  o\-er  mediaeval  feeling ;  and  it  shows 
how  the  aesthetic  Renaissance  and  the  Revival  of  Learn- 
ing were  at  last  blended.  It  also  illustrates  the  close 
relation  of  literature  to  life.  The  spirit  of  Spenser's 
poem  is  different  from  that  of  the  Prickc  of  Conscience, 
because  the  Renais.sance  had  wrought  a  complete  change 
in  men's  everyday  modes  of  thought. 


INDEX 


{^The  figures  refer  to  pages) 


Accent  in  Teutonic  languages,  17. 
Alfred,  as  king,  7-9;  as  man  of 

letters,  49,  50. 
Alexander  in  romance,  58. 
Alexis,  St.,  54-57. 
Allegory,  80,  81,  160;  Pearl,  106, 

107;   Piers  Plowman,   108-114, 

160;  Love  Allegory,  118,  122- 

125,  143-147;   Moralities,  158- 

i6i ;  Spenser,  188. 
Alliteration,  in  Old  English  verse, 

37;  Layamon,  66;  King  Horn, 

70  ;   Cleanness,  etc.,  104. 
Alliterative  Poems,  103-108. 
Alphabet,    Old    English,     23,  n.; 

Runic,  44 ;  Middle  English,  56, 

n.;  66,  n. 
Alysoun,  82. 
Angles,  arrival  of,  in  Britain,  5,  6 ; 

dialect  of,  21. 
Anglo-Saxon,  see  Old  English. 
Arthur,  in  history,  5 ;  in  romance, 

58-76;  referred  to  by  Chaucer, 

137- 

Asceticism,  53-57  ;  influence  of,  in 
romance,  65.  See  also  Monas- 
teries. 

Augustine,  St.,  1 50. 

Ballads,  152-157. 
Bede,  40-42  ;  translated  by  /Elfred, 
49;  cited  by  Layamon,  67,  68. 


Beownlf,  34-40,  47. 

Bestiary,  The,  77-81. 

Bible,  Old  English  metrical  para- 
phrases of,  41  ;  Middle  English 
do.,  77;  Bede's  St.  John,  42; 
Wyclif,  103;  subject  of  Alliter- 
ative Poems,  104,  106;  of  Mira- 
cle Plays,  157. 

Black  Death,  99. 

Boccaccio,  125,  126,  172. 

Boethius,  49,  50. 

Book  of  the  Duchess,  125. 

Britons,  see  Celts. 

Brunanburh,    the    battle,    8 ;     the 
poem,  51. 
■  Brut,  58. 

By-ut,  The,  of  Wace,  65,  68 ;  of 
Layamon,  66-70,  ']t^. 

Caedmon,  40-42. 
Caesar,  invasion  by,  2. 
Canterbury   Tales,   1 28-140;   Cax- 

ton's  edition,  162. 
Catholicism,  in  Richard  RoUe,  92  ; 

in    Piers    Plozurnan,    114.       See 

also  Reformation. 
Ca.xton,  162-164. 
Celts,  in  Britain,  2-6;  in  Gaul,  23; 

Irish    missionaries  to  England, 

41  ;  legends  of,  in  romance,  58- 

76;  influence  of  language  of,  on 

Old  English,  24,  30. 


189 


IQO 


EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


Charlemagne,  in  romance,  5S ;  op- 
posed to  the  Danes,  7. 

Chaucer,  120-140;  contemporaries 
of,  98-119;  imitators  of,  141- 
147;  mentioned.  Si,  S3. 

Chivalr)',  rooted  in  feudalism,  5S  ; 
moral  tone  of,  59-65 ;  collapse 
of,  98,  164;  romances  of,  see 
Romances. 

Chrestien  of  Troyes,  59-61,  64, 
65. 

Christianity,  brought  to  Britain,  4, 
6;  allusions  to,  in  Beowulf,  36; 
effect  of,  in  Old  English  litera- 
ture, 41,  42,  45,  57.  See  also 
Religion. 

Chronicle,  English,  50,  51. 

Church,  see  Clergy,  Christianity, 
Reformation,  Religion. 

Classics,  influence  of,  see  Revival 
of  Learning,  Drama. 

Claudius,  conquest  of  Britain 
under,  2. 

Cleanness,  1 04-1 08. 

Clergy,  satirized  in  Land  of  Co- 
kayg7ie,  87-S9 ;  in  Piers  Plow- 
man, 109,  114  ;  by  Skelton,  166, 
167;  by  Erasmus,  175,  176; 
power  of,  1 01  ;  corruptness  of, 
90,  100,  101,  117.  165.  See  also 
Friars,  Monasteries. 

Clerks,  83. 

Cokaygne,  The  Land  of,  87-89. 

Colyn  Cloute,  165-167. 

Complaint  to  Pity,  124. 

Confessio  Amantis,  11 5-1 19,  162. 

Constantinople,  fall  of,  172. 

Court  of  Loz<e,  The,  143-147. 

Cuckoo  Song,  82,  83. 

Cynewulf,  43-47. 


Dame  Siriz,  84,  89. 

Danes,    invasion   by,    7-9;    effect 

upon  English  language,  31 ;  do. 

upon  literature,  48,  50. 
Dante,  125. 
Dialects,  Old  English,  21  ;  Middle 

English,  2S,  29 ;  confusion  of,  in 

MSS.,  48 ;    supremacy  of   East 

Midland,  29,  1 1 5. 
Drama,  early  forms,  1 57-161 ;  later 

development,  1S5. 

Edward,  155. 
Edward  III,  98. 
Elene,  43-47. 
Elizabethan  age,  1S4-188. 
English  language,  see  Old  English, 

Middle  English. 
Erasmus,  171,  173-181. 
Euphues,  Euphuism,  187. 
Exeter  Book,  32,  43. 
Exodus,  41. 

Fabliaux,  84-91,  159. 

Faerie  Queene,  187,  188. 

Fatalism,  in  Beoivulf,  39. 

Feudal  system,  11,12;  an  element 
in  chivalry,  58 ;  collapse  of,  99, 
164. 

French  language,  in  England,  13, 
14;  related  to  Old  English  and 
German,  16,  17;  to  Latin,  23, 
24 ;  influence  of,  on  Middle 
English,  25-28. 

French  literature,  written  in  Eng- 
land, 51 ;  influence  of,  see  Ro- 
mance, Fabliaux,  Gower,  Chau- 
cer, Romaunt  of  the  Rose. 

Friars,  attacked  by  Wyclif,  ro2 ; 
by  Langland,  109,  1 29 ;  by  Chau- 
cer, 129.     See  also  Q\&x^ . 


INDEX 


191 


Galahad,  65. 

Gawayne,  62. 

Gawayne  and  the  Green  Knight, 
71,  104,  106. 

Genesis,  41. 

Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  58,  73. 

German  language,  relation  of,  to 
English,  17-21.  See  also  Teu- 
tonic. 

Golden  Legend,  164. 

Gorboduc,  185. 

Gower,  114-119;  posthumous  repu- 
tation of,  115,  142,  145. 

Grail,  The,  61-65. 

Greek  in  universities,  178.  See 
also  Revival  of  Learning. 

Grimm's  Law,  18,  20. 

Guinevere,  59,  71. 

Henry  VII,  164. 
Henry  VIII,  iSo. 
Henryson,  142. 

History,  mediaeval  idea  of,  68. 
Hoccleve,  see  Occleve. 
Holy  Grail,  61-65. 
Humanism,  173-178. 
Hymns,  Latin,  57. 

Indo-European  family  of  lan- 
guages, 15. 

Italian  literature,  early  Renaissance 
in,  122,  172;  influence  of,  on 
Chaucer,  125,  126;  do.  in  six- 
teenth century,  181,   182.    . 

James  I  of  Scotland,  143. 

Judith,  47. 

Jutes,  5,  6;  dialect  of,  21. 

Kent,  settlement  of,  6 ;  overlord- 
ship  of,  7. 


King  Horn,  69,  70. 
Kitigis  Qtiair,  143-147. 

Lancelot,  Launcelot,  59,  63,  71. 

Lancelot  of  the  Lake,  7 1 . 

Langland,  see  Piers  Plowman. 

Latin  language,  in  Britain,  3 ;  re- 
lation of,  to  French,  23,  24;  in- 
fluence of,  on  Old  English,  24  ; 
the  language  of  the  monasteries, 
42,  49,  51;  of  Gower,  116;  of 
Erasmus,   173,   174. 

Layamon,  65-70,  73. 

Legend  of  Good  Women,  126-128. 

Lollards,  103;  mentioned,  117. 

Love,  in  romances,  60,  61,  64,  65, 
70 ;  in  Fabliaux,  89 ;  in  Gower, 
118;  in  Chaucer,  124-127;  in 
Rom  aunt  of  the  Rose,  122-124; 
in  lyrics,  82,  181-184,  186. 

Luther,  178-180. 

Lydgate,  141. 

Lyly,  186,  187. 

Lyrics,  Middle  English,  82-84 ; 
Renaissance,  181-184;  Eliza- 
bethan, 1S6. 

Malory,  62-64,  71-76,  141,  162. 

Manuscripts,  destruction  of,  52 ; 
cost  of,  163. 

Map,  Walter,  61,  n. 

Maundevile,  Travels  of,  148-152. 

Mendicancy,  54-57,  113- 

Mercia,  overlordship  of,  7  ;  liter- 
ary supremacy,  45 ;  dialect  of, 
21 ;  do.  in  Middle  English,  22, 
28. 

Middle  English,  25-29  ;  compared 
with  Modern,  130,  131. 

Miracle  Plays,  157-159- 


192 


EARLY   ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


Monasteries,  41,  42;  narro%ving 
influence  of,  49  ;  as  storehouses 
of  MSS.,  52;  decay  of,  90,91, 
164.     See  also  Clergy. 

Morality  Plays,  158-161,  185. 

Morals,  philosophy  of,  187,  188. 
Sec  also  Clergy,  Monasteries. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  177,  178,  180. 

Morte  Artlnir,  71. 

Morte  Darihur,  see  Malory. 

Mysticism,  57,  150. 

Nature,  in  Beowulf,  38,  39  ;  con- 
ventional description  of,  1 24, 
143 ;  allegorical  treatment  of, 
81,  150;  in  lyrics  and  ballads, 
see  82,  153. 

Norman  Conquest,  9-14  ;  effect 
of,  on  English  language,  24-28  ; 
on  Old  English  literature,  51, 
52  ;  on  Middle  English  do.,  see 
French  literature. 

Northmen,  in  England,  7-9;  in 
Normandy,  9. 

Northumberland,  overlordship  of, 
7  ;  literary  supremacy,  40 ;  dia- 
lect of,  21  ;  do.  in  Middle  Eng- 
lish, 28. 

Occleve,  141,  142. 

Old  English  language,  21-23; 
transition  from,  to  Middle  Eng- 
lish, 25. 

Old  English  literature,  32-52. 

Old  Norse,  31. 

Pagan    spirit,    in     Beowulf,     39 ; 

Cynewulf,  45,  46  ;  fudith,  47. 
Parliament,  99. 
Piilience,  104,  106. 


Patrick,  St.,  4,  41. 

Pearl,  104,  106-108;   122,  124. 

Petrarch,  125,  172. 

Piers    Ploivman,     10S-114,     129; 

allegory  in,   159,  160;  compared 

with  Utopia,  177. 
Praise  of  Folly,  174-178. 
Pricke  of  Conscience,  92-97,  188. 
Printing,  invention  of,  162-164. 
Pronunciation,  Chaucer's,  130. 
Prose,  of  Bede,  42  ;  yElfred,  49; 

Malory,  62-64,  71-76  ;  Maunde- 

vile,  148-151  ;  Lyly,  187. 
Protestantism,  see  Reformation. 

Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  71. 

Reformation,  178-180;  preluded 
by  Lollardry,  103. 

Religion,  of  Britons,  2 ;  of  early 
English,  6  ;  in  Cynewulf,  45 ; 
Alliterative  Poems,  104-108  ;  in 
fourteenth  century,  100-103  ; 
conflict  with  science,  149,  150. 
See  also  Christianity,  Asceticism, 
Theology,  Grail,  Clergy,  Monas- 
teries, Catholicism. 

Renaissance,  162-188. 

Revival  of  Learning,  172-178, 
187,  188. 

Reynard  the  Fox,  85,  162. 

Riddles,  Old  English,  45. 

RoUe,  Richard,  of   Ilampole,  91- 

97- 
Romances    of     Chivalry,     53-76, 

106;    contrasted  v;\i\\  fabliaux, 

88-90. 
Potnaunt   of  the    Pose,    122-124  ; 

influence  on  Chaucer,   124,  125, 

127;  on  others,  124,  143-147. 


INDEX 


193 


Rome,  conquest  of  Britain  by, 
2-4 ;  Church  of,  st-e  Catholi- 
cism, Christianity,  Reformation. 

Roses,  Wars  of,  164. 

Round  Table,  see  Arthur. 

Runes,  in  Cynewulf,  44. 

Satire,  in  fabliaux,  etc.,  84-91  ; 
Piers  Plowman,  1 09-1 12,  114, 
129;  Chaucer,  129  ;  Skelton, 
165-169;  Erasmus,  174-176. 

Saxons,  4-6;  dialect  of,  21.  See 
also  Wessex. 

Schools,  French  spoken  in,  13, 
14.     See  also  Universities. 

Science,  mediceval.  So,  149-152; 
Renaissance,  173,  177. 

Scotch  dialect,  29. 

Sir  Patrick  Spens,  154. 

Skelton,  164-169. 

Sonnet,  182,  1S3. 

Speculum  Meditantis,  1 1  5. 

Spenser,  187,  18S. 

Stcmmone7-''s  Tale,  129. 

Surrey,  180-183,  186. 

Teutonic  languages,  16-21  ;  leg- 
ends in  English  romance,  69. 

Theology,  mediaeval,  171,  175; 
Renaissance,  173,  178,  179. 

Thomas  Aquinas,  170,  171. 

Tragedy,  185. 

Transubstantiation,  102  ;  Lang- 
land's  belief  in,  114. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  126,  127  ; 
imitated  by  Henryson,  142; 
stanza-form  of,  147. 


Troy  legend  in  romance,  58. 
TuH>tyng  of  Elynoiir  Rtwimyng, 
167-169. 

Universities,  medixval,  169-172; 
Revival  of  Learning  at,  178, 
iSo,  181  ;  influence  of,  on  Eng- 
lish dialects,  29 ;  on  early  secu- 
lar literature,  83  ;  on  drama, 
1S5. 

Utopia,  177,  178,  180. 

Vercelli  Book,  43. 

Versification,  Old  English,  36, 
37  ;  Layamon,  66  ;  King  Horn, 
70;  Alliterative  Poems,  104; 
Chaucer,  130  ;  Rime  Royal, 
147  ;  ballad  stanza,  153  ; 
Skelton,  165;  the  sonnet,  182, 
183;  blank  verse,  183. 

Vox  and  the  Wolf,  85-87. 
Vox  Clamantis,  115. 

Wace,  66,  68. 

Welsh,  see  Celts. 

Wessex,  overlordship  of,  7  ;  su- 
premacy of,  in  literature,  4S- 
50;  dialect  of,  22;  in  Middle 
English,  28. 

West  Saxons,  see  Wessex. 

Widsith,  32-34. 

Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  130-140; 
Gower's  version  of,  118,  119. 

William  the  Conqueror,  10,  12,13. 

Wyatt,  180-184,  186. 

Wyclif,  102,  103. 

Wyrd,  in  Beowulf,  39. 


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